365 days writing prompts
by liliumweiss
Summary: Collection of one shots based on a list of 365 prompts. Mostly modern AUs or Enchanted Forest AUs and completely Captain Swan. Ratings may change.
1. Just classic when we met (now you made m

**Hello, it's me. I know most of you (I hope?) are still waiting for the new chapter of Made of Stars, and I should've translated it by now, so I have no excuse - apart from my exams and my thesis, of course. I'm so sorry, I hope I'll be able to update soon, but I'll (hopefully) finish my exams on January 19th, and then (again, hopefully) I'll be working on my thesis. Still, I hope I'll be able to update, I really, really want to.**

 **Now, I found this list of prompts and my mind just decided I had to write - I started this a while ago, actually, but there are only four stories right now. Ops. Maybe four and a half.**

 **These will be mostly modern AUs or Enchanted Forest AUs, since canon divercence is not exactly my thing, sorry. I'll put the M rating because I honestly don't know how many will be actually M rated, but I'll make sure to let you know when my muse gets wrapped up in smut.**

 **While the fics won't be all set during one specific day, the month - or yeah, even the day, if it's important in any way - in which the fics begin will be the one indicated on the banner (here on I can't post it, but I'll tell you when it'll be).**

 **Side note for this first OS: Emma wasn't pregnant in jail - she's just turned eighteen - so she and Killian can _legally_ be together. You know, because on the show this problem had never been addressed. **

**I hope you like this one, it's just something small, but I'd like to know what you think. Thank you for reading!**

Chapter 1 – Just classic when we met (now you made me new)

Prompt: "new beginnings".

She didn't even knew how she'd arrived in Maine from Boston. No, really, she didn't know. She only knew she'd pickpocketed a wallet from a man in the midst of the chaotic crowd in the train station and that she had taken the first train going outside the city.

What she truly couldn't understand was how she'd arrived in that small town in the middle of nowhere, in that Storybrooke. Honestly, she had never heard such an absurd name, but, apparently, its inhabitants carried it with honour, the first of which was the woman behind the mayor's desk.

The actual problem of small towns was that, if she had stolen something, she would've been the first one to be suspected, and her yellow Bug wouldn't have been able to win a race against the police car.

What gnawed at her from within, instead, was the fact that, if she had committed a theft, she would've disappointed all those who, in the last week, had showed her nothing but kindness, something someone like her didn't deserve at all.

 _Don't think about it_ , she tried to convince herself, _don't think about how Mary Margaret will look at you with eyes filled with pity, or how David's shoulders will sag with disappointment_.

A long time ago she used to feel excitement in stealing things, were them wallets or knick-knacks in souvenirs shops, or food from minimarkets. Or already stolen cars, she thought with a grimace. She hadn't stolen just out of necessity, but because she liked it, because it was forbidden, and she had passed all her life trying to be perfect and still nobody had wanted her. She had crossed the line, bringing herself on the other side of the law, on the wrong side, and there she had found someone who wanted her, someone who she had thought she loved, someone who, instead, didn't love her and had only wanted her just for her to spend eleven months behind bars in his place.

Emma fought the tears away, the pendant with the swan burned like a hot firebrand pressing against her chest, remembering her how much pain trusting someone caused and how much pain you felt in loving someone.

She had thrown to the wind the chance of a new beginning because she knew no one would've ever accepted her; she was an orphan, after all, a girl with no GED and a criminal record. She could've explained what had happened to her, that it hadn't been her fault, but it would've gone the same way it went in the foster homes when she tried to defend herself from her foster parents who didn't believe her when money disappeared at the hand of on the boys who had been able to run away and, maybe, build himself a life. They had not believed her when Lily happened.

She tightened her hands into fists at the memory, the spot on which she had drawn the black star seemed to burn even after many years.

She leaned against the icy bricks in the dark alley, the light of the lamppost didn't touch her, hiding her from the eyes of the few pedestrians. She was wearing the heaviest – stolen, of course – jacket she had but it still didn't prevent the cold from penetrating her bones and leaving her lips almost completely numb.

It was 3 am, or at least so the clock on the tower over the library marked, and everybody was at _The Rabbit Hole_ or at _Granny's_ to celebrate New Year's Eve. She pursed her lips, remembering Mary Margaret's invitation to spend New Year's Eve with her and David she had gently – okay, maybe a little brusquely – declined. She couldn't accept, she couldn't risk getting attached to two amazing people just to lose them once they'd discovered what she had – not – done.

Listening to Storybrooke's silence, she pulled out a bobby pin from her hair and walked towards Mr. Gold's shop's backdoor; inside she surely would've found something interesting to resell in another city.

Gold wasn't one of her favourite people, too shady and always trying to make deals that didn't benefit anyone but him, but she liked his wife, Belle, well enough to make herself feel slightly guilty. _At least I won't be stealing a book from the city library_ , she thought with a half-smile, not amused at all, kneeling on the frozen asphalt and starting to work on the lock.

Once she'd successfully opened the door without making the alarm go off – probably Old Gold hadn't even thought about it – she slipped inside the backroom. She didn't turn on any light, using a little flashlight instead, holding it with frozen fingers.

She almost had a stroke seeing the enormous spinning wheel in the centre of the room. _What, he spins straws into gold?_ , she thought ironically, looking attentively at the other things. Her gaze fell upon a sword with a golden pommel embellished with rubies, rubies that were probably worth a fortune.

She kept looking around, noticing the strangest of things she'd ever seen, including two creepy dolls, before crossing the curtain that divided the backdoor from the actual shop. She admired nostalgically a crib mobile from which hung unicorns made of blue glass, brushing them gently with her fingers. She had never had one, no one ever cared about giving her a happy childhood, the only thing she had was a blanked with her name embroidered on it. Why bother with knitting a blanket like that – and naming their child – only to abandon said child on the side of a road?

She moved behind the counter, observing the painting there, more precisely the hinges on the side of the frame, and reached out with her hand to detach it from the wall when a manly voice stopped her every movements.

«I wouldn't do that if I were you, Swan.»

Despite the fact that she'd known him since last week and had seen him every morning at breakfast at _Granny's_ when he stopped by to pick up donuts and coffee for his brother, David and himself to bring them to the police station and had tried to dismiss his attempts to engage in a conversation, Emma would've recognized that voice anywhere.

Killian Jones, twenty-three, maybe one of the most beautiful guys Emma'd ever seen in her life, stood with his shoulder pressed against the doorframe that led to the backroom. His expression seemed hard, but his eyes betrayed a sadness Emma couldn't exactly how to classify.

With her back stiff, Emma stepped away from the painting. Knowing she couldn't compete with him, not when he surely had a loaded gun on his side – not that he would shoot her, of that she was sure – she held her wrists out towards him.

When she saw him standing motionless looking at her hands, she snapped: «So? You're going to arrest me or not?»

She was surprised when she felt his fingers imprison her wrists, stroking her hands to bring her warmth. «If you keep not to wear gloves, your fingers will fall off.»

She gulped loudly, looking at how devoutly he touched her, as if she was some rare treasure. Not even _him_ had touched her like that, only taking what he wanted. Her heart skipped a beat at the memory of stolen moments in the backseats of the Bug or in motel rooms they hadn't paid for in which they entered by picking the locks.

«What are you doing?» she asked him quietly, eyes wide fixed on his long fingers that, even without gloves on, were surprisingly warm.

«I'm arresting you,» he said jokingly but with a clear note of sadness that fed Emma's want of escaping from Storybrooke as soon as possible. If Killian was sad because of some reason that concerned her, that meant he somehow cared. And she couldn't risk caring about him in the same way. She simply couldn't.

«I need to go,» she murmured, trying to free her hands from his. His grip tightened even more as he brought their joined hands to his lips, blowing air on them, warming them up a little.

«You could stay,» he countered, his lips a few millimetres from her frozen fingertips. Emma felt something breaking inside her, as if she wasn't broken enough, feeling the pendant becoming more and more heavy around her neck, dragging her into the abyss.

«I'll stay only if you'll arrest me. After you'll have released me, I'll go away from here,» she whispered between her teeth. «How did you know I was here? I thought…»

«We were all getting drunk somewhere?» Killian laughed, not stopping warming her hands. «I was enjoying myself a drop of rum, actually, all alone at the station. Then I thought I could share it with a certain girl who lives in a flashy yellow bug stolen almost two years ago, so I came to find you.»

Emma tried to get her hands out of Killian's grip, failing again. _He knows_ , she thought, panicked, the urgency of running away even more acute, now. She inhaled sharply, trying to step back, but she only ended being dragged towards him. She collided against his chest, feeling the air leaving her body. Now she was breathing in only his scent, rum and what seemed like coffee.

«I need to go,» she repeated, tears in her eyes as he finally released her hands, only to wrap his arms around her waist and pressed her against his own body. Emma closed her hands into fists, placing them on his chest trying to move away from Killian, in vain.

«You could stay,» he whispered, begging her with his gaze. That was the same gaze she'd worn when she'd hoped that Neal would come back for her, that he hadn't left her taking the fall for a crime she hadn't committed.

She had to avert her eyes, she couldn't sustain the intense blue of Killian's irises. She felt tears stinging her eyes. «Since when have you known?» she asked in a whisper, afraid of the answer.

«Since the day you've stepped over the town line.»

Emma closed her eyes, letting the tears streaming down her cheeks. A warm hand wiped them away, and she felt herself automatically leaning into that touch, allowing him to caress her skin with his thumb.

If he knew about her criminal record, then his brother would surely know, too. And if his brother knew, then David would _surely_ know, too. If David knew, there was no doubt that even Mary Margaret would know. And if Mary Margaret knew, it was sure that the whole town would know.

A sob escaped her lips. _Why does everybody know but still want me to stay? Why can't they just let me go?_

Killian pressed a kiss on her forehead, the first intimate contact she ever had with him, yet something more deep than simple comfort.

«It's easier caring about you than hate you, Swan. Hating you would be impossible,» he murmured stroking gently her back.

 _They've seen me in town for a single, fuckin week, they can't have already gotten attached to me_ , she tried to protest against the little voice that was telling her to stay, one she'd never heard before.

She shook her head. «You now have the proof that they did put me in jail for a reason,» she whispered with clenched teeth, feeling the lie burning her throat, as if it didn't want to come out.

Killian didn't lose his grip on her. It was strange, but that part of her, that lost girl that had always wanted a home, had finally calmed down. _No, I can't stay_ , she said to herself, but those words lacked conviction, now.

«Why?» she could only ask, her gaze fixated on the counter in the dim light. «Why should I stay? I have nothing to offer, I'm a criminal, I don't have a GED, I don't have… anything.» _I just have an emotional baggage of broken hearts and broken promises_.

A kiss brushed her hair. «Because everyone deserves a second chance, God only knows how many Liam and David gave to me, and even Mary Margaret did. I too was a loose cannon, Emma, especially after… a relationship that ended badly, when she cheated on me with her ex-husband, the chances of a happy future crushed before my own eyes as the door of my apartment closed. Because even Liam and I had had our share of disappointments from foster parents before arriving here when Liam had turned eighteen and could finally take legally care of me, as if he hadn't done that during all those years in the system.» He traced her cheek with his long fingers, pushing her to look him in the eyes. «We all understand you, Emma, that's why. And not only Liam and I, but even David and Mary Margaret didn't have the best of childhoods. We want to help you, but you have to allow us to do so.»

Now tears were falling freely, choked sobs shaking her chest, even more painful than the ones she'd cried when she'd been arrested. «How can you still trust me after… this?»

It was ridiculous, really, _she_ had always been the one to have trust issues, especially after Lily and Neal, so why was she having problems with _them_ trusting _her_?

«Because we all make mistakes, love,» Killian whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. «I too did my fair share of nights behind bars, I'm not a saint, no one of us is. The important thing is to understand where you went wrong.»

She grunted, a noise that completely disagreed with the current state of her tearful face. «I've been wrong to trust someone. I _can't_ trust anyone, Killian.» _Not you, not all of you, and least of all myself_.

Killian shook his head. «No, Emma, you weren't wrong to trust him, it is him who was wrong to not understand how precious what he had in his hands was, much more precious than some bloody watches.»

She felt herself freeze at that statement. They had always blamed her for not being adapted for being adopted, they had blamed her for having dragged Lily on a wrong path made of thefts and darkness, they had put her eleven months behind bars because, in their opinion, she had stolen some watches, but no one, _no one_ , had ever asked themselves why families had not chosen her, nor they had ever believed when she'd said it had been Lily who had convinced her to run away from her own father, nor they had ever asked why would someone frame her for a theft she had not committed.

She had screamed " _it's not my fault_ " a thousand times in her head, but that phrase always came out without the " _not_ ", because it was better to believe it was her fault than not others', others that would always get away with it, despite her claims of innocence.

«Mary Margaret would've proposed it to you,» Killian whispered after a few seconds, his hand still caressing her back. «Mary Margaret would've asked you to help her at the elementary school, and in the meanwhile you'd have had the time to study for your GED. She would've have offered you the guest room in the loft. For free, of course, until you had found a job of your liking.»

«It's a nice story,» Emma murmured, lips pressed against his shoulder. Hearing those nice words, she'd leant against him, as if she'd suddenly felt tired. Tired of fighting against Mary Margaret's smiles and warm hugs, against David's almost paternal looks he used to throw at her and the faces he made every time Killian came too close to her, against Liam's bear hugs and his big-brotherly behaviour, against the looks Killian always threw at her, full of what had always been complete devotion, even though she didn't know how to explain it, against the voice that kept telling her to stay.

Years before, when she used to think that the next family to cross the threshold would take her away with them just like princes did with their princesses, sitting them on their white horses, she would've thrown herself into their arms, but the fear that, after they'd understood she was a lost cause, they'd send her away, that was a fear she couldn't bear.

«Aye, and this is only the first chapter.» He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing every finger.

They stayed silent for a few moments, Emma battling with herself, a battle she knew the fear of staying couldn't win. Hesitant, she asked: «Do you think it's too late to go to David and Mary Margaret's?»

It was a whisper so faint she was afraid he had not heard her but, in that silent night, Emma wasn't alone, someone had been able to hear her silent and desperate scream of help and had come to her rescue. _Not only tonight_ , she corrected herself, remembering that her rescue seemed to have been planned since the day she'd set foot into their lives.

She felt Killian's smile against her temple, and even her own lips curved slightly upwards. «I think Mary Margaret would be willing to come dragging you out of your bug by force instead of leaving you sleeping in there another night with this cold.» He cleared his throat. «I'd offer you my bed, promising you I'll be a gentleman and that I'd sleep on the couch, but I'm afraid it's too soon.»

Her heart clenched. _It has only been a week, but he would give me his heart after what that woman did to him_ , Emma thought, unable to understand how a part of her had already entrusted him despite her doubts. They both knew she would have never agreed, there was too much at stake beside the chance of a new beginning, but what surprised her was that a part of her would have had.

She lifter her gaze on him, a small smile gracing her lips. Killian's eyes betrayed anticipation and excitement, something Emma had never seen in anybody's eyes. _This must be the feeling you have when you trust someone completely_ , she said to herself, dazed, now understanding that she had never trusted anybody, not the families searching for some lost child to adopt, not Lily, not Neal. She gulped, suddenly afraid of what she was seeing. «It's too soon,» she confirmed with wide eyes, «but… I don't think it will be "too soon" forever.»

The smile he gave her was worth more than a thousand precious watches, the grip around her waist even more stronger than before, as if he wasn't willing to let her go _now_ whereas he would've been just a few minutes earlier.

Killian leaned his forehead against hers, a smirk on his lips, lips Emma suddenly felt the urge to kiss. «Let's knock the sheriff out of bed.»

She frowned, remembering where they were and, above all, of what Killian should've been doing. «He'll give you an earful for leaving the station in the middle of the night.»

She felt him chuckle, and was amazed of how beautiful his laugh was, warm and husky and comforting. «But, my dear, isn't it a good cop's job to ensure that everyone who's lost their way will return home safe and sound?»

 _Home_. At the thought, Emma's heart jumped in her chest. She had never had a place to call home, but, after Killian had ensured Gold's door closed properly, as he took her hand and moved her body closer to his because " _I won't allow you to freeze under my supervision, Swan, or the Nolans won't let me hear the end of it!_ ", and as the first snowflakes of the new year began to fall all over the quiet, small town of Storybrooke, she found herself thinking that, maybe, she'd already found it.

* * *

«I need to go,» Emma huffed, looking at the time on the alarm clock on the bedside table. She tucked her frozen feet between Killian's ankles, snuggling even more against him and trying to steal his body heat.

She heard him huff as his grip around her waist tightened. «You could stay,» he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Emma shook her head against his chest. «You know very well that cakes and pastries don't bake themselves,» she grumbled, rubbing her nose against Killian's shirt, one of the many she'd stolen several times and now had learnt to share.

That exchange of remarks had almost become a ritual in the year they had spent together, trying to not get scared of the intensity of their feelings, because even Killian was afraid, and she'd better not forget that – and she wouldn't, of course.

«Bloody hell, it's January 1st, everyone will sleep 'til noon, something you should do, too,» Killian replied.

She smirked, languidly caressing his stomach, making her way downward. «Are you sure you just want to _sleep_ until noon?»

Killian breathed a groan, now _definitely_ awake as Emma's hand sneaked under the waistband of his sweatpants. Emma laughed when, with a low growl, he pinned her under his body, laugh that melted into a moan the moment Killian's lips pressed against hers.

Yeah, sometimes staying was the best choice.


	2. See you just can't just take the effect

**Hi! Fortunately, I was able to go around the problem with the upload of the docs - you can do it by editing an old fide in the doc manager - and here I am!**

 **I honestly don't know how this happened, I didn't know what I was writing until I just said "to hell with it" and just went on with fluff, fluff, fluff and fluff. And I'm not even ashamed. There's a tiny bit of angst, but it's 97% fluff.**

 **I hope you enjoy this OS and don't be afraid to leave a review, they feed my muse ;) I apologize for any mistake, since this is unbeta'd.**

 **Rated T - or G? I actually don't know how to rate fics, mostly because I go straight from G/T to M/E and can't understand the difference. Eh, that's a nasty business. Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for reading!**

Chapter 2 – See you just can't just take the effect and make it the cause

Prompt: "cause/effect".

Okay, _maybe_ staying in her dorm for the holidays hadn't been a wise choice. From New York to Storybrooke it was only a four-hours drive, after all. But no, Emma Swan wanted to be the adult that didn't spend the holidays in her friends' guest room or at Granny's bed and breakfast.

It wasn't the first time she declined one of the Nolans' invitations, nor the first time she regretted that decision, but if she heard another ballad about broken hearts she would go in the communal kitchen and smash his precious Jolly, the expensive acoustic guitar he kept strumming on at every hour of the day, on Killian Jones' head.

Shouldn't he had already gotten cramps on his fingers? On his fingers? Half a heart attack, maybe? No, nothing.

She huffed, covering her face with the book she was reading, a light read – « _Who could ever define_ "The Count of Montecristo" _a light read, Swan?_ » – as Killian's rough voice reached her ears. She rolled her eyes, another ballad about broken hearts, something she'd _never_ heard.

It had been going on like this since Christmas, day they hadn't spent together if not for a moment when they'd met in the kitchen and wished " _Merry Christmas_ " to one another, then going their own way.

A part of her felt bad for not having thanked him for the gift he'd given her and that she hadn't reciprocated. Of course, the scared part of her kept repeating her that it hadn't been him, as if there were other students beside them. _Yeah, sure, Emma_.

The gift itself was beautiful, and she'd actually spent a few tears seeing the portrait he'd made for her, her face blending into the form of a swan. She'd traced the lines of her own face and the swan's with trembling fingers, noticing how much attention he'd put in every detail, as if he'd spent every moment of his time observing her without her noticing. And he probably did, since he'd rather lay down on the couch in the common room, sipping rum at every hour of the day.

It was really a pity that a guy like him was wasting himself away like that – not that she minded a bit of tequila, from time to time. Killian Jones, after all, was a legend in the Science Department, a genius like Sheldon Cooper, basically, but with the same attitude as Howard Wolowitz, an innuendo always on the tip of his tongue, but at least he didn't dress as obscene as Howard did – and no, Emma had never lost herself looking at the hollow of his throat that peeked out from his shirts, hollow on which she'd gladly pass her tongue.

Since Christmas, though, Killian had never been the same, in fact he seemed even more gloomy and more inclined to down a whole bottle of rum alone and in less than a day.

With a sigh, she stood, marking the page with the bookmark and grabbed the still unopened box of muffins. Every year at Christmas, Mary Margaret baked her chocolate and cinnamon muffins, whether she was with them or wherever she'd decided to spend the holidays. Share them with Jones had certainly not been her first thought, but still, maybe, he'd be so occupied with keeping his hands busy and wouldn't play the whole time – and no, Emma wasn't thinking about another way for him to keep his magic hands busy, not at all.

She closed the door of her room behind her and went towards the common room, noticing how is accent had grown thicker and his voice lower while he hummed a song she'd never heard.

« _You keep blaming me for what you did, and that ain't all, the way you clean up the wreck is enough to give one pause, you seem to forget just how this song started, I'm reacting to you because you left me broken hearted_.»

 _Oh_.

Emma stopped dead in her tracks, biting her lower lip. Although sometimes music was just background noise, sometimes you just had to pay attention to the lyrics to understand what a person was feeling. And, maybe, Emma Swan didn't have monopoly on broken hearts.

She sighed, going with long strides towards the couch on which Killian was laying down, the guitar on his lap and a half empty bottle of rum on the coffee table.

Mustering up her courage, Emma sat on his bare feet, covered only by a pair of red and green striped socks which she couldn't help but smile at.

Saying that he jumped would've been a euphemism: he'd almost hit his head against the roof. «Swan!» he exclaimed, panting, bringing a hand to his chest. «I thought I could've been a nuisance, but not enough for you to want to kill me.»

She rolled her eyes. _Drama queen_ , Emma thought shaking her head and lending him the muffins. «So, what happened to you?»

Reluctantly, Killian settled with his back against the armrest of the couch, crossing his legs to give her a little bit of space. He grabbed the muffins and his stomach began to howl. Clearly, drinking rum on an empty stomach was Killian's way to get drunk faster and not having to deal with his pain sober.

Emma understood him, really, even though at the time she was seventeen and the only thing she was allowed to drink was hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon: Ruth wouldn't have allowed her to drink something alcoholic because the guy she'd thought she loved had betrayed her. She huffed at the memory, wondering how she could've been that stupid.

«Do you really want to know or are only trying to make me stop playing?» Killian grumbled, opening the container and grabbing a muffin. He devoured it in three big mouthfuls, and Emma widened her eyes. _What, his stomach has been empty since Christmas?_ She furrowed her brows, wondering if he had actually gone by with rum for days.

«Both,» Emma conceded, folding her legs under herself, grabbing the guitar and placing it on her lap, copying the pose some musicians had in their videos and plucking at the chords, emitting a few notes that weren't in tune at all. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grimace, probably because of her absolutely non-existent talent.

«Let's see, where to begin?» he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, «I could begin saying that I spent three years of my life chasing after my bioengineering teacher's assistant, a beautiful woman almost twice my age, or maybe I could begin saying that, around Christmastime, Liam's absence is even more unbearable. Or, maybe, I could tell you how, five years ago, they came at my doorstep to tell me that my brother had been killed by a stray bullet and how I had to run away from the foster system for months before I was eighteen, or I could tell you how I found out, after a secret relationship so to not get me in trouble with my studies, that the woman I've just mentioned didn't want to have anything to do with me publicly because she was married and even had a son. And, as a cherry on top, she blamed me for everything.»

Emma pressed her lips in a thin line, her fingers still on the guitar's strings, her gaze focused on Killian's figure, hair long and days-old beard, different from his signature short and gingerish one he usually showed off. She noticed he'd already devoured the two other muffins, but she couldn't find it within herself to blame him. Jesus, she too had drowned her own sorrows in Ruth's baked goods she baked for her every day after Neal – and in the tequila Ruby secretly brought her for their sleepovers.

«My ex betrayed me,» she said suddenly, shocking even herself. It wasn't like her to talk about Neal, he counted as boyfriend because he'd been the first and only one she'd fallen in love with. There had been dates, but nothing more, she couldn't trust anyone anymore, and she didn't want one-night stands either, actually, too focused on her studies to even think about boys. That was her way to honour Ruth after all she'd done for her. _After_ , maybe, in the much distant future, she would think about boyfriends, but she couldn't allow herself that when, even after five years, the fact that Neal had blamed her for his betrayal still stung.

To someone it might seem stupid, but to a girl that had spent her entire life being blamed for the fact that her parents didn't want her and no one else had ever wanted to adopt her, hearing those words were worse than a stab. «The funny thing is that he cheated on me saying, and I quote, "it's your fault, Ems, if I had to find someone else to fuck because you still want to wait". Sure, because at seventeen, after three months of dates at Granny's, my only thought was sleeping with him.»

Killian grunted from the other side of the couch. «Bloody wanker,» she heard him mumble between his teeth. She looked at him, curious, wondering why he took it so much to heart. He met her gaze, his blue eyes suddenly _too_ sober. He shrugged, as if he wanted to respond to one silent question of hers. «Every person with a functioning brain would know that it'd be worth it waiting for you,» he said, biting down on another muffin to conceal his expression.

Emma was surprised at his words to say the least, because she didn't know since when Jillian Jones had a crush on her. Because that sentence had to mean something, right? Or was it just her suddenly resurrected romantic self that gave her false hopes?

 _Hopes?!_ She widened her eyes, shaking vehemently her head and keeping strumming, her cheeks now aflame.

She heard a huff above her off-key notes, and suddenly Killian hand was on her, forcing it into the correct position with his chocolate-covered fingers. «You can't just dishonour the _Jolly_ like that,» he mumbled almost to himself, his hair falling down onto his eyes as he sat back with his legs crossed, but now closer to her.

«You named your guitar after Captain Hook's ship?» she couldn't stop herself from asking, amused, dissipating that last note of awkwardness that lingered in the air. In response, he arched a brow, challenging her to say anything more about his precious _Jolly_.

She bit her lip to conceal a smile, lowering once again her gaze onto the guitar. She plucked at the strings, emitting far better notes than the ones she had before, but still not good. It was then that she saw it.

The breath caught in her throat and she reached her trembling fingers out to trace the name carved onto the lacquered wood. _Liam Jones_.

«It's the only thing left of him aside from his medals and the compass he gave me before he left for Afghanistan. I took those three things, the money I needed, a change of clothes, and then I ran, guitar slung over my shoulder and empty inside, just like her.»

Emma felt tears stinging her eyes. She'd ran away too after Ruth's death, maybe not to escape the system, but she'd isolated herself from everyone. For Killian it was different, though, he didn't have anyone to come back to, she at least had a few friends.

«I've seen the way you watch the world, Swan.» Those words made her lifting her gaze, and fear started to rush through her veins, telling her to run. «I've seen the way you watch the others when they parents come to visit, and I've seen the way you've watched them when they left for the holidays to go home.»

«To a home I don't have,» she completed for him in a whisper. She heard him sigh and take a long swig of rum before passing her the bottle. «Is rum your solution to everything?» she asked skeptical, mostly to mask the pain than to make fun of him.

«It certainly doesn't hurt,» Killian replied. With a nod, Emma drank from the bottle, tasting chocolate where his lips had been, a clear contrast from the fire the rum lit in her throat.

Emma handed the bottle back to him, stealing one of the last muffins he had in his lap. «Storybrooke has been my home for a few years,» she whispered bringing the muffin to her nose and breathing in its chocolate and cinnamon scent that reminded her of Ruth's kitchen. «I miss it,» she admitted after the first bite, «it's the first time I say it aloud, but I miss it like crazy.»

Killian looked at her carefully. «You'd still be in time for that phone call,» he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. She looked at him, knowing that if she left him there alone he would probably drink himself into a stupor and no one would notice until it was too late.

She was astounded by her own selflessness. Not that she wasn't selfless, but she had never been so with a stranger or people whom she didn't trust and she, with all the trust issues she had, never had too many friends.

«Nah, I'd have to endure David's lectures and Mary Margaret would surely try to set me up with someone she thinks might be my True Love. At least you have rum,» she said with a smirk.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how he didn't seem totally convinced by her excuse, but he kept his mouth shut, just eating the last muffin left in the box. «Since you've been so nice with me that you even shared what probably would've been your dinner with me, what do you say, will you give me an hour to put something clean on so I can take you somewhere for dinner?»

Emma widened her eyes, her lips slightly parted. «As in a date?» she asked, unconsciously tightening her grip on the guitar.

Biting his lower lip – highly sensual gesture that Emma surely _didn't_ want to mimic on that same lip – Killian shook his head. «Not at all, Swan, just a mere cause-effect relationship: you deprived yourself of your dinner for me, I want to do a good action and repay you for such kindness.»

Her sixth sense _knew_ that wasn't the truth, not completely, at least, but what Killian had highlighted was real: that would've been her dinner, had it been for her. Unfortunately, even if she'd tried, Emma had never been able to figure out Ruth's culinary secrets, opting for take-aways and pizza, even the cafeteria's food, or just frozen and canned food.

It was with that absurd excuse that Emma found herself doing her make-up – something light, but she hadn't done her make-up that carefully in years – while singing _Jingle Bells Rock_.

Although she didn't want to see much in this _not_ -date, she ended up wearing a pair of jeans and her best boots – as Ruby usually said, a little bit of heels never hurt, even if she actually meant 5 inches heels or higher – and a red and white sweater that hugged her in all the right places. It wasn't anything special, but _she_ was feeling special. It was… a nice effect, even though the cause was still uncertain. Or, maybe, it wasn't uncertain at all.

She found herself receiving Killian's flattery in the form of a single red rose. She couldn't find a reason behind that gesture, and even if she did, she tried not to see much into it, just like she tried not to see much in the way he placed his hand at the base of her spine or in the way he opened every door they came across, including the door of his black pick-up truck.

«Where do you want to go?» Killian asked.

Emma frowned. When she was in Storybrooke, Neal usually took her to Granny's, because the little Italian restaurant would be _too_ expensive for daddy's boy with limitless capital. «I'm craving for ice cream.»

That made him laugh, but Killian didn't stop until he turned off the engine in front of an ice cream parlour, _Any Given Sundae_. Emma widened her eyes. In all her years there, she'd never set foot in there.

The woman who owned the place always waved at her every time Emma stopped to look at the windows, now decorated with snowflakes, one different from the other, accurately designed, as if whoever made them had studied real snowflakes under a microscope and then reproduced them on adhesive film.

«Really?» she asked with eyes bright just like a little girl's before a Christmas present. She remembered well what it felt like waking up with no present under the tree, and what it felt like _having_ one, or more than one, and that all thanks to Ruth.

«Consider it a late Christmas present,» he confirmed when he opened the car door for her with a shy smile, scratching behind his ear.

Emma widened her eyes even more. Was he able to read her mind? She blushed furiously, entering the parlour. Some clients were sitting at tables with glass cups of ice cream in front of them, not too full probably because of the season – it was January 2nd, after all – and it looked like they'd entered a winter Wonderland with a giant white Christmas tree in one corner, silver garlands everywhere and more snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.

Behind the enormous counter, Ingrid Frost widened her eyes finally seeing her inside her shop for the first time. She'd never understood why she'd never entered and, shifting her gaze on the guy next to her, she knew whom she had to thank for that.

«Pick whatever your heart desires,» Killian bent down to whisper in her ear. Emma shivered, his proximity source of the heat pooling in her belly. She looked at him, even if she didn't need to, she knew he was serious. Before she could even think, she lifted on her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her lips, blushing even more as she brought her gaze back on the flavours.

«Caramel cup craze, cotton candy, brownie, toffee coffee, double fireball, cocoa-nut bliss, fool's gold and death by chocolate. And whipped cream and melted chocolate, of course.»

Ingrid smirked, starting to put together the cup. Emma lifted her gaze on Killian, who was looking at her with a smile on his lips and adoring eyes. In that moment, she felt the desire to kiss him, but she didn't, settling for hearing him repeat her same order although with fewer flavours.

He sneaked an arm around her waist, drawing her closer om a way that wasn't usual to a simple acquaintance, but she didn't feel the need to make him keep his distance. It was a very… intimate gesture, not even Neal had ever hold her like that, unless he wanted to kiss her or put his hand under her shirt. She shook her head, she didn't want to think about that idiot right now.

So she relaxed next to Killian, grabbing her – definitely heavy – cup and letting him pay – _«Gentleman, Swan._ »

They sat in a corner, he with his back to the window, hers to the Christmas tree. She saw him looking at her, so she dug the spoon into the ice cream and brought it to her mouth, embarrassed. «Eat, or else it'll melt.»

Killian chuckled, an awkward and extremely sweet sound. «Sorry, it's just that with the tree's lights you seem to sparkle,» he said, closing his eyes immediately after and running a hand on his face, the tips of his ears on fire. «I could've spared that.»

For her part, Emma blushed, but reached out a hand to place it on his. «I've never received such a compliment, Killian,» she said softly, then lowering her gaze on the ice cream. «You know, well, you _know_ … I've never had a happy childhood, and when someone tried to be nice with me they always wanted to get me into their beds and no one of them has ever been so genuine and sweet and honest and…»

«Swan,» he stopped her, squeezing her hand, «I may not have a degree in English, but even I do know that you can't use that many "and" in the same sentence.» Even if he was joking, he was clearly nervous. He placed his lips on her hand, slightly tickling her skin with his ginger stubble.

«Hey, I'm nervous, can't I babble a little?» she mumbled, defensive, resuming eating her ice cream.

«You can babble all you want, Swan, and I'd stay here listening to you all day,» he vowed, smiling and kissing once again the back of her hand, keeping it in his own as he too began to eat.

«I still can't believe you let me buy everything.»

«I told you, Swan, you'll have everything your heart desires.»

Emma blinked and she couldn't stop herself from smiling shyly as she clutched his fingers. It was strange that someone beside Ruth and her family put her needs before their own, she wasn't used to a similar affection, and everyone in Storybrooke could see how much she'd always been reserved and skeptical every time someone offered her something.

Killian had never been that way, despite his innuendos he'd always been nice with her, treating her with respect and infuriate her at the same time. She'd been grateful for that, actually, because it'd taken the stress of the many exams off her. He'd always had words of encouragement for her, saying that she would make it even if she was swamped by study and she hadn't eaten in days, even saying that she was beautiful. She'd never believed it, but she knew that for him it wasn't a lie.

They finished their ice cream talking about their studies; Killian was about to graduate and she had a few exams left to take and was waiting for a reply about a job in a law firm. Killian had a safe job as researcher at the university, something that made him excited and anxious at the same time. Emma, though, trusted him.

«I'm sure you're going to give a hard time to your own professors, especially to Gold,» she joked. Everybody knew about the antipathy that professor had for the genius that was Killian.

He huffed, his cheeks slightly red. «If he doesn't kill me first,» he mumbled opening the truck door for her.

«Hey, you don't have to worry about him, you just have to do your best and not think about what that crocodile will say,» she tried to reassure him, squeezing his hand over the gearshift.

As he'd done before, Killian thanked her bringing her hand to his lips and then rubbing his nose on the back. «Since when did you turn into me?»

With her free hand, she punched his arm jokingly. «Come on, we still have that bottle of rum to finish.»

«So my company makes you want to get drunk?» he joked.

«Nah, it's just a simple excuse to drink some of the good stuff. I mean, at least you have good taste when it comes to rum.»

«Oh, so it's just the rum that you like, isn't it? Nothing to do with my handsome self?»

«Mhm, maybe with a good amount of rum inside my body I could find you handsome.»

Killian brought his hand to his chest. «You wound me, Swan!»

«Yeah, yeah, you'll die because I don't flatter you enough.»

«I could try and convince you to do so at dinner,» he threw casually with a shrug.

Emma bit her lip. «You could,» she conceded slowly, «but first you have to make me digest all the ice cream I just ate.»

«What about next Friday?»

She huffed, but it was in amusement, not annoyed. «Okay, if you insist.»

«Oh, Swan, I would never force you to do something you aren't comfortable with.»

«I know,» she said, knowing that, even though unintentionally, he was referring to what had happened with Neal. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith.

* * *

«Cause: I'd really like to kiss you. Effect: I think I'll do it.»

Emma giggled, looking at Killian with a raised eyebrow. «I don't think that's an actual cause-effect relationship.»

«Hey, I'm the bioengineer here, Swan. Just play along.»

She huffed, looking at him as the snowflakes fell upon them, evident on Killian's raven-black hair, who hadn't bothered with a beanie.

When he kept staring at her without moving a muscle, Emma arched a brow. «So?» she asked, slightly impatient. Was he having second thoughts? Had he played with her? Had she become maybe worse than his ex? Had…

Killian's lips were suddenly on hers, his arms around her waist as he drew her closer to him, sensually moving his mouth upon hers. Emma didn't take long to kiss him back, a kiss way better than Neal's.

When they pulled apart without letting go of one another, with her fingers in his hair, they didn't notice that their breaths formed a single cloud of condensation in the short space between their lips.

«Cause: you're a good kisser,» Emma murmured panting, looking at him with eyes shining with malice, «effect: I think I'll kiss you again.»

* * *

«Cause: you are extremely intelligent, and I am, too. Effect: we've graduated, Swan!»

Emma couldn't stop herself from laughing as Killian lifted her into his arms and spun her around without a struggle.

They were dating for months, now, but it seemed like they'd been together from always: she knew everything about him, even his darkest demons from when he'd ran away from the foster home and what he'd done to survive; he respected her as a person, letting her to set the pace of their relationship.

Emma had stayed up all night with him on the anniversary of Liam's death, rum in one hand Killian's clutched in the other while they stayed silent and did nothing. Killian hadn't gone into a sulk when she'd gone to David and Mary Margaret's alone during spring break, only to find her standing on his doorstep with a big carton of Ingrid's ice cream and a bottle of rum two days before her estimated return – « _They said I looked miserable, and in fact… I missed you_.»

They'd declared their love for each other in front of a cup of ice cream two months before, he'd been the first to say it when he'd seen her laugh at one of his jokes, she immediately after, risking for Killian to flip table, ice creams and chair over in the need of kissing her in front of everyone. At least they hadn't applauded them.

However, and that didn't bother either one of them, they still hadn't slept together. And they had many a chance to do so, but either someone interrupted them or something catastrophic would happen, Killian was only waiting for a bloody dwarf to come running towards them yelling: «we are all going to die!»

Emma smacked a kiss onto his mouth, smirking when she saw his gobsmacked expression. But Killian Jones was a man of quick comprehension, and he tilted his head to kiss her again, clutching her robe between his fingers.

* * *

«Cause: the prices of the flats are really high. Effect: what do you say, want to share one with me?»

Emma stopped dead in her tracks, lifting her head to look at him, searching for a joke in his expression not finding any in his proposal.

They were about to go eat an ice cream, now the weather much milder than on the day of their first date – day she kept considering so while he didn't because: « _Swan, that was a mere act of nourishment, not of courting. Or, at least, not completely._ »

They had not discussed their intensions about their future living arrangements, and they both had looked for apartments separately, without necessarily looking for who needed a roommate, instead focusing on a good apartment for two people of the same age, even better if it was fitting for a couple.

The problem wasn't the insecurity, that hadn't been a problem in a long time, in fact it was the opposite: Emma _wanted_ to go live with him, she wanted it with her entire being, and that scared her. So she did what she'd learnt to do since the moment she'd started to open up with him: she took a leap of faith, trusting the fact that he would catch her.

«Only if we'll buy that apartment near here, so you can easily come here for your researches and I won't have to take the subway to go to work.»

Killian brought his hand to his heart, pretending to be hurt. «You mean the one you've circled so many times in red that the ad is ready to fall off the newspaper so you can frame it? How could I ever chose another one?»

Too stunned – even if she shouldn't have been, Killian had _always_ been attentive to her every thought without her never needing to say them out loud – she could only smile and didn't kick him in the shin. Besides, that would've only made the one he already had even worse.

* * *

«Cause: Emma Swan, when we met I was too busy pretending to be superior, a mixture of insolence and arrogance you'd rather throw from the roof instead of dating. However, you were able to see behind the façade and saw the orphan in me, orphan you've learned to love when no one else had been able to, and this is something I didn't think could ever happen to me. You saved me from starvation and abuse of rum two years ago today, offering your chocolate muffins and making me eat more ice cream in a day than I ever did in twenty-two years of my life. You've been my light, the start that made me feel what it meant to have a home again, and nobody else could ever do that. Only you, Swan, only you are my home.»

Emma was on the verge of tears. No, it wasn't true, she was already crying, her lower lip slightly trembling as she watched the ring, a simple, beautiful solitaire perched on a cup of chocolate and caramel ice cream.

She cleared her throat, opening her mouth repeatedly trying to find her voice. «You didn't say what the effect is,» she whispered, wiping away her tears with her hand.

The tips of Killian's ears reddened even more. He picked up the ring, he wiped it on his _Star Wars_ t-shirt and kneeled in front of her, sat on the sofa with a heavy blanked wrapped around her shoulders because of that damn cold that had ruined their plans.

«You'll be the one to determine it, Emma. What do you say, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?»

«Well,» she said fighting the smile that threatened to bloom on her face and trying to keep her voice firm at the same time, «since every cause need to have an effect, and since I love you too and you are my home too, I assume I can only say yes.»

* * *

«Cause: we've had lots and lots and _lots_ of sex.»

Emma lowered her gaze on the pint of chocolate and pistachio ice cream on which she'd sprayed whipped cream, melted chocolate and roasted hazelnuts, now completely empty save for a few spoonful.

Killian approached her. He still had his leather jacket on, jacked she'd gifted him last Christmas, the other one too ruined and too small to still be comfortable and wearable any longer. Emma was sitting at the kitchen island, her bare feet crossed at the ankles on the crossbeam of the stool dressed in just a long SpongeBob pyjama shirt.

Although he'd helped her begin to understand the fundamentals of chemistry and physics without making it too difficult for her, it was usually him who made those jokes about the cause-effect relationship.

He'd started to suspect something, but hadn't wanted to jump to conclusions, blaming her mood swings and the fact that she didn't seem to be able to keep everything she ate in her stomach to an important case she'd been assigned, something that touched her deeply.

Without daring to hope, he placed his hands on her shoulders, pressing his chest against her back and kissing her cheek. «Mhm, I'd say that falls in the realm of the effect. Am I not a dashing rapscallion, after all?»

She turned on the stool, looking at him with a fake pout. Emma widened her legs enough to let him settle between her knees. She took his hands in hers, toying with the wedding ring he had on his left hand, the same she had on the same finger with her engagement ring. They'd married almost a year after their engagement, with Mary Margaret attempting to stick her nose one way or another in the wedding plans and Killian had almost begged Emma to elope in Las Vegas. Emma had almost even accepted, but then, out of the blue, Mary Margaret had stopped tormenting her. Strangely enough, David had been successful in putting a brake on her, feeling pity for his sister – and even a bit for Killian.

«I think the effect has been something else,» she whispered almost imperceptibly, lowering her eyes on their joined hands, as if she wanted to draw strength from that bond. She well knew that Killian would understand, and a part of her was sure he'd at least suspected it for a while.

Still with his hands in hers, Killian forced her to lift her chin so to look him in the eyes. «Are you sure?»

Emma nodded slowly. «I took five tests at work, and even from the routine analysis Victor did last week… but I knew, Killian, even before the tests, I… I wanted it, too.»

He smiled, knowing that they hadn't talked much about children, but neither one of them had been truly opposed to the idea, even though they wanted to take things slowly, just as they had done since the beginning.

He bent down to kiss her, stopping a few inches from her lips with a smirk. «You didn't finish the sentence, _Jones_.»

She huffed, a habit she'd never lost when faced with that banter, but this time was different. «Effect: in seven months you're going to be a dad, Killian.»

With a " _woohoo_ " the entire apartment building surely heard, Killian lifted her in his arms, making her spin all around the kitchen, feeling as if he was on the verge of taking flight.

All around the world every cause had an effect, and even though these causes weren't always true, and so weren't the effects they said they caused, whether they were accusations coming from men too stupid to understand the true value of their girlfriend or from women who shamelessly played with a young man's heart, sometimes these causes produced effects that made that girlfriend and that young man happier than anybody else ever could.


	3. I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, watc

**Hey! I was able to finish this fast because it was shorter than the others and, funny (not so much) thing, I found out that I'd skipped this prompt while I was in the middle of the next one so, ugh, I didn't have much inspiration, but then I came upon CS looking at the horizon and it went from there.**

 **I hope you'll like this, is flangst-y, a sequel of chapter 1 that I didn't plan on writing but here I am. Rated T - G for threats? No? (As I said, I go straight from T/G to M/E I'm werid lol**

 **Thank you so much for reading, enjoy! (and sorry for any mistake)**

Chapter 3 – I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, watchin' the tide roll away

Prompt: peace of mind. **Sequel of chapter 1.**

Emma sighed, watching the horizon always calmed her. It was a habit she'd picked up from Killian since even before they started dating. However, that morning it wasn't working, she hadn't been able to calm herself since that idiot of her ex-boyfriend had been in town.

Not only Neal had tested her relationship with Killian, but he'd instilled doubts she thought dormant for the last ten years.

Okay, maybe not really ten years, but since she and Killian had married five years prior, her life had bordered on perfection.

Strangely enough, they'd started to work together at the station, David had become something similar to an elder brother to her and Mary Margaret the best friend one could ever wish for, along with Ruby and Ashley.

Sure, Emma wasn't as perfect as they were, but Killian always found a way to make her feel so, to make her feel special. He'd always been able to do that, always, since the beginning, and he'd never doubted her, even when she'd pulled back within herself over and over, pushing him away. No one had ever been as patient with her as him; everyone else would've walked away, but not him.

And everything had been perfect, or almost, until that morning at Granny's when she saw Neal, shattering the glass of chocolate milkshake that had now become her breakfast on the floor, shattering the prospect of a perfect day along with it.

She hadn't even let him say a word, running away from the diner and hide away in her home, knowing that Killian was at work and that he wouldn't come back until lunchtime to stay a bit with her, but she hadn't been there, opting instead to give up on lunch, knowing she would receive a glare from her husband.

She heard footfalls, and she didn't need to look to know who it was. A paper bag appeared in front of her nose along with the flavour of fried food and chocolate. Sitting down next to her, Killian wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him.

He stayed like that, still with her in his arms, his gaze lost in the ocean. That was his way to find peace, too, especially when his mother's death and his father's abandonment became more and more heavier.

Yes, heavier, because even Killian had his demons and doubts, he too was a lost boy barely able to scrape together a bit of love for her thanks to Liam, to the fact he'd always been by his side.

Despite what his ex-girlfriend did to him, even though she had ripped his heart out of his chest and left only shards of it, Killian had been able to pull enough pieces of his heart together to love Emma with his entire being. And now it was up to her to find enough strength to not go crazy.

«I'm sorry about lunch,» she murmured, cuddling even more against his chest, his spiced scent was one of the few things that didn't make her nauseous.

A kiss brushed her forehead. «Don't apologize, my love,» he replied softly, massaging with expert fingers the nape of her neck. She relaxed under his touch, feeling calm flood through her body in a way she never felt when looking at the ocean because she always missed something, she always missed _him_.

Since she met Killian, he'd been the only one able to calm her down, and that had agitated more than once, turning on the switch of her need to run more times that she would want to remember. She still remembered how much she made him suffer every time she retreated inside herself, when she avoided him because she couldn't bear loving him so much.

But if Killian was Emma's calm, she was his. She was, because, as if Storybrooke wasn't in the middle of nowhere, and as if Neal wasn't enough, a few years before, a week before their wedding, Milah had appeared in town.

For how much Emma had feared that Killian could go away with her, she'd been able to put aside her anxiety, focusing on her fiancé. Killian hadn't reacted well at all and Liam, virtuosos and righteous Liam, he'd threatened Milah of dragging her over Storybrooke's town line, ready to hit her on her head and leave her on the highway. The reference had made Emma flinch, but she would've done the same. Oh, well, she would've actually tie a dead weight to her feet and bury her in the sea forever, but those were tiny details.

Emma sighed, pulling her legs under herself and pulled the cheeseburger out of the bag; all she ate now were what and grilled cheese, along with onion rings, obviously. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw these onion rings and two chocolate muffins. «And my milkshake?» she asked jutting out her lip in a fake pout.

Killian laughed to himself, kissing her temple and handing her a to-go cup. «Granny was polishing her crossbow, you know?» he asked, taking the other cheeseburger. Neal had been lucky not to be at Granny's with Killian there, or else he would've easily found a way to the cemetery.

«Let me guess, Liam has pulled out his gun and David has taken the shotgun from the wall?» she asked amused, rubbing her nose against his neck. She smiled satisfied in feeling him shiver.

«It could be,» Killian conceded, and bent over to kiss her with his lips dirty with mayonnaise, still tense despite the gesture. Killian knew the almost indelible scars her past had left on her heart, although they had almost disappeared with time.

She cuddled up even more against him, trying to steal his body heat, just like she did when they were in bed. She laughed quietly, remembering when, earlier that morning, everything was how it was supposed to be, calm and with no tension due to exes came back from the Underworld.

She devoured the cheeseburger in a few, silent minutes, relishing that calm feeling that had returned like a wave returned to the shore, the white foam the tension she felt.

«You know this is different, right?» She pulled slightly away from him, looking him in the eyes with a frown. Killian sighed, polishing the mayonnaise off her lips with a finger, bringing it to his mouth without averting his gaze. «What I mean is that it isn't like when Milah came back, we're not risking to lose each other, it won't take you away from me, because we belong to each other, now more than ever, and that won't ever change.»

Emma had tears in her eyes. That wasn't the same Killian that promised her to fight for them, for their future, something he'd never stopped to do, that was the same Killian that, displaying self-confidence, asked her to be confident herself.

She closed her eyes, clutching his hand tightly. «You won't lose me, Killian, I don't feel the urge to run. Not from you, at least. In fact,» she said opening her eyes and smiling at him, stroking his cheek softly, «as I said: you are my home. I just needed to collect my thoughts to understand how much true it was. Had this happened a few years ago, before you, before I hopelessly fell in love with you, you would've found me packing up my things. But now… now everything has changed. I'm not scared anymore, but my memories… my memories have always been a weak point for us. You can't always run from them.»

She sighed, letting the silence settle between them, not heavy at all.

Killian caressed her hair, looking at the horizon. He knew he didn't have to be afraid of losing Emma, however that fear was always there, and not because he didn't trust her, but because he was afraid he wasn't enough for her, afraid of not being worthy enough to keep her with him.

«How much will he stay in town?» she asked him, because she knew he had asked about his intentions – or, rather, David or Liam gave them to him.

«Apparently, the world is really a small place,» he said gritting his teeth, burying his nose in her hair to calm himself down. «Neal Cassidy is no one less than Neal Gold, son of our lovely crocodile.»

The "crocodile", as Killian had always called him, was Robert Gold, the man who owned half the town, although some said he owned all of it when Regina's mother was the mayor. Fortunately, after a long battle of wills, Regina had gotten free from the clutches of the man that some had for years suspected was her biological father.

Emma stiffened, turning to look her husband in the eyes, sheer terror in her expression. «So he's always known?» she asked in a strangled voice, clutching his hand tighter.

«I have no idea,» Killian admitted, holding her even more tightly against himself, «he surely knows now, but as for before… I haven't the faintest idea.»

She nodded slowly, breathing in his scent, wishing she was home so she could forget everything that had happened that morning, even if only for a little while.

With her head on his shoulder, Emma let her gaze roam on the ocean, remembering how many times Killian had told her how it could calm him even in the most distressing of situations, just like when he'd risked losing Liam, or when they fought. That was their special place, their meeting point in every way.

She felt her eyelids starting to close the moment a gentle laugh shook Killian's chest. Emma smacked his arm, rubbing her face against his leather jacket, once again wondering how he could bear the cold. However, it was better that way, after all he'd become her personal human heater.

«Do you want me to escort you home?» Killian asked brushing a lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

Before she could even accept his offer, Emma flinched, taken aback.

«Emma?»

With a dreamy smile, Emma grabbed Killian's hand and placed it on her rounded stomach. She didn't say anything, waiting for him to feel what she'd just felt, fingers clutched tightly around his wrist, every bad thought now forgotten.

They felt it at the same instant, but Emma was focused on the expression of awe that blossomed on her husband's face, eyes wide on their joined hands and lips parted, at a loss for words. «That's… that's…»

Emma bit her lower lip, smiling, and nodded. She felt like she was looking at the world from a whole different perspective, as if something had been put in the right place and the puzzle had finally been completed.

«You are bloody brilliant, Swan. Amazing.» The love and deference in his voice made her heart burst, remembering her how lucky she had been to find a man like Killian.

She gently traced her fingers on the back of his hand, still softly pressed against her stomach. «Mhm, firstly, it's Jones and not Swan, if I remember correctly, and I think you've been an active participant,» she finished with a few affectionate pats on his hand, causing her son to kick again. She smirked.

Killian shook his head, still incredulous. «I definitely may have been an active participant in our son's conception, _Jones_ , but you are the one to carry him. Besides, you've always been amazing to me.»

Before she could even think of crying hearing those words – damned hormones – she playfully slapped his shoulder. «Shut up,» she mumbled, her face red, pressing a kiss on his lips and suddenly feeling like a teenager with her first crush. Well, she wasn't too much far from the truth since Killian was the only one she'd felt what love really was with, from the teenage affection to what Mary Margaret loved to call True Love.

«I love you, you know?» Killian asked, rubbing his nose against her and kissing the tip. Yup, definitely teenager with her first crush.

«I love you too,» she replied, copying his gestures.

Being able to love so freely at the age of twenty-eight… if someone had ever told her when she was in jail for a crime she didn't commit that in eleven years she would find herself starting a family with the man she loved more than anything in the world, she would've laughed at them.

Now, though, she couldn't imagine of living without she had created, whether it was the little pastry shop she had opened with Elsa, or the home she lived with Killian or the baby that was growing inside her. No ex, especially not the one that had never loved her enough to stay, would ever take it away from her, not her friends or family, she would never allow it. Never.

The storm had passed for the moment, and she knew she would have to face another one before the ocean could be calm once again but there, with the lapping of the waves in her ears mixed with Killian's calm breathing, with the salty air that brushed her hair away from her face and brought the unique scent of her husband to her nose, wrapped in his arms and with their fingers intertwined on the place in which the most beautiful thing she'd ever created was growing, Emma felt at peace.


	4. When dreams were all they gave for free

**Hi! I hope you'll like this one, I'm satisfied with it and I'm kind of new at writing OS - thank you multichapter brain :'D Anyways, I won't be able to update until after May for sure, because ah, exam! (Only one exam more!) So I really hope you'll like this one even if there's definitely a bit of angst. Please forgive any mistakes. And of course, thank you for reading and commenting! Enjoy ;)**

4 – when dreams were all they gave for free to ugly duckling girls like me

Prompt: childhood memories.

Her mother loved taking photos, she loved capturing every moment of Emma's life since the moment she'd found her again. Despite she didn't like being photographed, Emma had understood almost from the beginning how much those photos meant to Mary Margaret.

She'd spent sixteen years in the system, sure of the fact that her parents had abandoned her, which they had actually done, but just because they couldn't give her what she deserved. After being nominated mayor of Storybrooke, after a long and heated war with Regina Mills, Mary Margaret had moved heaven and earth to find her daughter.

David had died a few months before, making her promise she would find her and that she would not stop until she would get an answer. She only had photos of David left, along with an engagement ring, a house full of his clothes and memories, memories that kept him alive and made her go on with her life, pushing her to find the part of him that was still alive.

When she'd found her, Mary Margaret had apologized for everything she'd put her through during those sixteen years Emma had spent being pulled around from one foster home to another. For her part, Emma had stood there, still, not believing that she was her mother.

The first photograph Mary Margaret had taken of her showed Emma in front of their front door when they'd just arrived from Boston after a long car ride and a stop along the way for the best ice cream she'd ever tasted – besides Ingrid's, of course.

The second one, instead, portrayed two mugs filled with hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, along with strawberry candy canes and marshmallow on the side. Emma had cried at the sight, hugging Mary Margaret tightly; that'd been the first gesture of affection someone had ever shown her in sixteen years. It wasn't about the food, but because that was her mother, nobody else would've known how she liked to drink her hot chocolate and that she didn't want marshmallows in it but that she liked to dip them in the chocolate to clean up the mug.

There weren't photos of her father's grave, but there were photos of him, both alone and with Mary Margaret, with the animals at the shelter and when he'd been nominated sheriff, chest out while his deputy, Graham, laughed under his breath in the background.

A mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon materialized under her nose. She lifted her gaze, smiling softly to her husband, who was holding a bag of marshmallows in the other hand. «Don't worry, there's rum inside,» he confirmed sitting cross-legged beside her.

Emma accepted the mug with a grateful nod of her head, letting Killian holding her to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, placing the album on their knees so he could see. «Henry?» she asked, knowing he wasn't alone.

«Granny is fattening him up with apple pie and chocolate,» Killian replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

«If he keeps going on like that he'll end up not sleeping anymore,» Emma murmured, pensive, tracing the edge of the album's page, hesitant in turning it.

Killian shrugged. «We won't sleep much anyway, but we both know he'll fall asleep anyway. The worst that can happen to him is a stomach ache.»

«True,» Emma laughed softly at the thought of how their son could fall asleep basically everywhere. She sighed, sipping the hot chocolate, delighted by the warmth that bloomed in her chest and stomach. The rum burned her throat slightly, leaving a different taste in her mouth. She glared at her husband. «Killian…»

«Don't "Killian" me, Emma,» he told her seriously, «you know too well that if I hadn't put it in the hot chocolate you would've poured yourself a glass after Henry had gone to bed.»

Emma sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing against him. He was right, she would've probably drunk the entire bottle, attempts of getting pregnant a second time thrown out of the window.

«Besides, the heat should evaporate the alcohol so, in any case, you're not drinking much of it,» he tried to distract her, stroking her back and tapping his fingers on her waist.

She nodded, curling up against him and turning the page of the album. There were four photos, two on every page, each of them with a ten-years younger Emma on it, embarrassed in front of the camera's lenses.

On the first one there was her bedroom, bedroom she had decorated with Mary Margaret in just one afternoon, pizza boxes and Coca Cola bottles abandoned on the floor. A tear escaped Emma, running down her cheek at the memory of that day, of how hesitant she had been in telling her mother what she liked and what she didn't, so much that they had to take two trips to Ikea because Emma, once they'd arranged the things they'd bought the first time, had burst into tears saying she didn't like those things and that she'd bought them because cheaper and because she was used to them in her foster homes.

Two other photos portrayed her at the stables with her horse, Buttercup, or rather, the horse that had belonged to her father and then to her. To say she'd been terrified by the idea of even just going near there would be an understatement. She'd stood frozen at the stables door for five minutes, but since the moment the mare had shoved her gently with her muzzle, Buttercup had become her best friend.

Photos of her first birthday party followed, the dominant colour the same blue as her husband's eyes' – oh, how much Mary Margaret loved to think that was Emma's favourite colour because she knew her soulmate would have the eyes of the same colour (she had never admitted that, after having met Killian, it had actually become her favourite colour, and never will) – and a living room full of friend who didn't treat her like an orphan, they just wanted to spend time with her.

One of the photos she loved the most – and that Killian loved, too – portrayed her sitting on the couch between Anna and Elsa, with Anna telling a fun story and the other two bent over from laughing with their hands pressed against their aching stomachs.

There were lots of photos of Emma with her mother and her aunt Ruby, of her on her horse, of Thanksgiving and Christmas' feasts, of various gifts and of mother and daughter with matching Christmas sweaters and _oh_.

«Bloody hell, Swan, I don't remember your mother being there!» Killian grumbled, not offended at all, but the tips of his ears were red. Emma twisted her neck to press a kiss on his cheek.

«Oh, come on, you weren't _that_ bad… after my lessons,» she sneered, shoving him slightly with her shoulder. He let out an unintelligible grumble in response. Shaking her head, Emma brought her eyes back on the photo.

It was taken at border of one of the stables' fields – never, never underestimate the power of that camera's zoom! – and saw Emma kneeled beside Killian, his back against the tree that had just knocked him off the horse. And, oh, side note, that was the only tree within hundreds of meters.

«That bloody tree came out of nowhere,» he'd said holding back a moan of pain when he'd tried to stand up. He wasn't hurt that badly, fortunately he'd been able to slip his feet from the stirrups and slide off the saddle, otherwise things would've definitely been worse.

Emma had rolled her eyes but hadn't said anything about his stupidity. At the time she only knew Killian Jones by sight, since he was a year older than her and passed most of his time in the library studying – whereas she preferred a tree's shadow in her garden, she'd never liked being locked up somewhere – and, after having made sure there wasn't anything broken and that he just had a bruise on his side and scratches on his elbows – not to mention his bruised pride – she'd accompanied him back to the stables, each one on their own horse because Killian jones was nothing but a fighter.

Since that day they'd planned riding lessons – after all Killian had never mounted a horse before that day and his brother Liam had been _slightly_ busy finding a broom closed in which he could hide with Elsa – and he would've paid her with math and chemistry lessons because hey, nobody's perfect.

From then on, from the first study session caught in the photo behind the living room's entrance, blonde head bent against a dark haired one trying to understand chemistry secrets, two glasses of orange juice and cinnamon cookies placed on Mary Margaret's favourite plate on the coffee table.

«She didn't capture our first kiss, how strange,» he commented, amused, pressing a kiss on her temple.

Emma blushed slightly, remembering how clumsy they'd been. «Well, that would've been difficult since we first kissed when you took me sailing.»

«Never underestimate the power of that camera's zoom, you've always told me so,» he teased her, pinching her side and making her jump with a strangled yell. She slapped him on the hand, only for clutching tightly in her own.

There were more stole shots, or photos of an awkward Emma in front of the camera in her pale pink dress Mary Margaret had gifted her for her first Valentine's Day with Killian and another one when he'd offered Emma a red rose.

Emma still remembered their dinner at _Tony's_ and how they'd danced under the stars on the beach, their feet bare, her once tied-up hair then cascading free on her shoulders in soft silver waves under the moonlight.

A laugh escaped her lips when she saw a photo of when Killian had asked her to go to the prom together. She remembered Liam telling her that Killian had spent a whole night to bake those cupcakes. The photo showed an open box and Emma's feet. Of course, next to the box there also were a take-away cup filled with hot chocolate, whipped cream and cinnamon and a single red rose Killian had stolen from Cora Mills' garden. It was a miracle she hadn't bitten his head off or ripped out his heart yet, but Emma didn't complain at all.

«One of the best stomach aches of life,» Emma commented with a loving gaze, smiling up at Killian as if she still was seventeen.

Even though at the time Killian had already graduated, he'd been glad to go back to his old school with the girl he loved to make her live the unmissable experience that was prom. He arched an eyebrow. «Only you can have a ranking list of the best stomach aches, you know that, don't you?»

Her smile widened. «If that consoles you, the best one was with Henry.» At that, she got a look between bemusement and amusement. She smiled even more, leaning forward to kiss him rapidly on the lips. «Okay, maybe "best" isn't the perfect adjective but I don't regret it.»

«Mhm,» he said, caressing her still black-covered waist, making her almost purr. He grinned, tilting his head to kiss hers. «As I said, only you can have that kind of ranking list.»

«Yes, I know,» she replied, her first smile in days still on her lips. She turned the page and saw more photos, one portraying her the day of her high school graduation. She perfectly remembered of wearing a steel blue dress with flowers on it and open on her back – something that had allowed Killian's finger do wander on her skin – and sky high her Aunt Ruby had gifted her for the occasion.

Two photos saw her getting ready for prom, a long-sleeved red dress similar to a princess' had been her choice for the evening along with a glittered headband that sparkled like stars under the gym's lights. Her mother had even caught hers and Killian's smiles when the DJ had switched to a waltz. Emma'd been surprised how easy it'd been for her to follow Killian's steps during the dance, outside the school, towards his house, in his bed…

«That, instead, is one of the unforgettable nights of my life.» Killian's smug voice startled her and she could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes, but smirked at him, bumping him with her shoulder.

«I knew you had that kind of ranking list.»

«Oh, but it's a long one, you know?»

«And you remember them all? At your age?»

He tickled her side, making her yelp. «Oi, I'm just one year older than you,» he mumbled, pouting. He was distracting her and she was secretly thankful for that.

«Weren't you a centuries-old pirate?»

«Hey, hey, that was a masquerade party. And I did it for Henry. And I remember you enjoying it, wench.» The look he threw her should've been deemed illegal. Definitely illegal. She would've jumped him in that same moment.

She sipped her hot chocolate, enjoying his eyes darkening when she passed her tongue on her lower lip. It'd already been ten years but they still loved… _pancakes_. She blushed at the memory, glad her mother didn't have a photo of _that_.

Killian bent over her, his breath hot against her cheek. «Besides, I remember how much you liked the hook.»

«Careful, Captain,» she said, shifting away from him and meeting his gaze, forcing herself not to drop it on his lips.

He arched an eyebrow. «What should I fear, Princess?»

«Oh, I wouldn't know, I think piracy is punishable with death.»

«And, please, enlighten me, how could I ever get in your good graces?»

With a playful smile, Emma turned her head, bringing her attention back to the album. There was a photo of Emma and the girls in their bikinis. At least her mother hadn't caught Killian's hungry gaze when he'd seen her in a bikini for the first time. Well, he already _had_ seen her naked, however, if even ten years later they still found it hard to keep their hands off each other, at the beginning it was even worse. Or it had worsened with time?

Another photo portrayed them in the water, hugging and kissing passionately. «I didn't even know about the existence of _half_ of these photos,» she whispered tracing her fingers over a photo of her and Mary Margaret with matching sunglasses while they clinked their glasses, their nails freshly painted. Mary Margaret's hair was still pitching black.

More photos followed, one in particular had her jaw drop. It was the first Halloween at the stables, a long white dress with a cream cloak, Killian dressed up like a pirate and a horse ride that had ended in the middlemists field. In the photo she was sitting behind him, her cheek against his shoulder and him watching her out of the corner of his eyes.

It was one of her favourite memories – at least they hadn't fallen from the horse – and it was something they still did from time to time when they needed to escape from everything and everyone but not from each other.

«We should bring Henry to the stables soon, either way he'll decide to go on his own,» Killian observed caressing her waist.

«Yeah, he'd go just to do what we do,» she mumbled turning the thick page of the album. « _Oh_.»

The police academy's acceptance letter, on her mother's face one of the widest smiles she'd ever seen. Tears welled up in her eyes, Mary Margaret had been so proud of her, following in her father's footsteps even though she'd never met him.

She curled up against Killian, feeling his lisp against her forehead. There were more photos of her and Killian at his graduation, another dress and longer hair and a red leather jacket on her shoulders; her graduation day, the same jacket serving more as a cloak as Killian spun her around. Killian had then taken a photo of Emma and her mother as Mary Margaret pinned the deputy badge on her belt. A photo of Emma and Graham followed, his arm circling her shoulders, shining smiles on both of their faces.

Graham had been almost a father figure for her and she was like a daughter to him, so much that he'd taken a bullet for her. Fortunately, it'd only been a scratch, but the fear of losing him too had been huge. He'd just lest the wake after having hugged her for a long time and, even if he wasn't her father, he was this close to be.

There wasn't a photo of Killian's proposal – she couldn't have one, since it'd happened on the Jolly, Killian's boat, and they'd been so far from the coast that not even Mary Margaret's strongest zoom lenses could've reached them.

It was August and it was hot even for Maine's standards and that day she was wearing a red bikini and a white sundress. She and Killian had been living together for two years already, moved in right after her graduation when she'd started working as deputy for Graham and he'd started teaching at Storybrooke High and Killian had surprised her with that trip after a hard case, a well-deserved vacation of sorts. Of course, she'd not suspected that he would propose but had still been ecstatic when he'd gone down on one knee, the ring carefully placed inside a seashell she'd later turned into a necklace.

«I'm surprised she didn't say anything.»

Ah, right, right. Because Killian had asked Mary Margaret her blessing to marry Emma. She smiled fondly. «I think she probably told her students. Graham for sure. And of course she told Ruby, who surely told Granny. But the fact that she didn't tell me… it's… i-it's…» She stopped, her voice suddenly hoarse as she buried her face in Killian's chest.

His hands caressed her back and hair, swaying her a little as he used to do when Henry was crying. «I know, love, I know.»

She hadn't cried in days, not after her mother's passing, not even at the funeral ceremony. His strong lass, always putting up a brave face in front of everyone so they wouldn't know how much she was hurting. Killian was glad he let him see that, meaning that there were no walls between them.

«S-she was s-so happy,» Emma sobbed, voice muffled.

«Aye, I remember,» he said with a sad smile. «I think she'd actually started planning our wedding way before I went to her.»

That made Emma laugh briefly. «She told me she started planning when we moved in together,» she whispered rubbing her wet cheeks against his black shirt, knowing he wouldn't mind.

«Ah, that makes sense,» he replied, still smiling as he reached out to turn the page of the album. There they were, the night of their engagement party – at least it hadn't been a ball, even though it was a near thing. «I'm wondering if you have photos of your bachelorette party, too.»

At that, Emma pulled slightly away, her puffy red eyes in contrast with her playful smile. «Of course I do, but Anna has them. Mom just organized the bridal shower, not the bachelorette party, that was all Elsa.»

Killian sighed and pouted a little, but pressed a kiss on her cheek. «Pity,» he said nuzzling his nose against her hair.

«Well, Liam told me I wouldn't want to see the photos of your bachelor party, so unless you want to let me see them…»

«Not a chance in hell,» he hissed, his cheeks red. They both know there had not been any kind of strippers, but their parties had been in New York, and they had both agreed that what had happened in New York would've stayed in New York. That is, until their friends would be ready to make fun of them at one of their birthdays.

Emma was still sipping her chocolate and turning the pages of various wedding-related photos until she stopped to admire a photo of the wedding. All the wedding photos had an album dedicated to them, but it made sense that Mary Margaret wanted to have one in this one, too.

«You were beautiful,» Killian breathed, his chin on her shoulder. «I couldn't even speak and my hands trembled so much Liam had to sustain me otherwise I would've collapsed in front of everyone.»

Emma laughed, closing her eyes for a moment, remembering the moment she had walked down the aisle with her mother beside her and her own nails digging into Mary Margaret's palm.

«I need to show Liam this one,» Killian chuckled motioning to a closeup of Elsa's face when the bouquet had landed right into her hands, her cheeks crimson.

«Ohhh, this is gonna be payback for the bachelorette party photos,» Emma nodded with a smile, quickly falling back into a fit of sobs when she looked at the next photo, one she'd framed on the wall, the one that saw her and her mother during the first dance. Both Emma and Killian had decided to surprise Mary Margaret that way and before they could dance they had to wait almost thirty minutes before Mary Margaret calmed down.

«She used to dance with dad all the time, he hummed in her ear, just like you do sometimes,» she confessed, tracing her mother's teary smile with a trembling finger. He didn't say anything, simply holding her closer and brushing a kiss on her cheek.

More photos followed, more memories and smiles and tears, especially when they found out Mary Margaret had taken a photo of the onesie they'd bought to reveal Emma's pregnancy on which there was written "Grandma's little pirate prince". Mary Margaret had cried so much, but to be fair, _all_ of them had.

They'd not been exactly trying, they'd not been careful enough but didn't mind at all when the test turned out positive. They were in a good point in their lives, the whole town – almost all of it – helped them with everything that concerned Henry, and he'd even managed to thaw a little even old Regina Mills' heart; he was probably the only one able to make the woman smile an actual smile.

«Of course she kept all the sonograms,» Emma chuckled as she saw her son grow under her eyes once again. «She tried to talk me into doing the poses with fruits and vegetables you do every week or whatever, but I turned her down. It was just too strange…»

«Don't regret not doing it, love,» Killian said softly, «I know now you feel as if you had to do it, but you didn't. When my mom died I regretted many things for a long time, but then I learned to accept that I couldn't change the past, but learn from it. If you want, we can do that with the next baby.»

Truth to be told, Killian wasn't exactly excited about the whole photos with fruits and vegetables thing, but this wasn't about him, this was about Emma and her connection with her mother; he wouldn't dare jeopardize that.

Emma twisted her neck to watch him. «You would?» She shook her head, smiling softly and reaching up with a hand to intertwine her fingers with his hair. « _Of course_ you would. We'll see. I find it silly, but… mom cared about silly things in a way I've never understood, and a bit of silliness is good in life so why not? Why not be all clichés for once?»

«You sure Henry won't be jealous?» Killian joked wiggling his eyebrows.

«Nah, he would say it's cool.»

«That he would do.»

Emma traced the last page with her finger, the last photo one of a family dinner at Granny's during last Christmas. «I think… no, I _know_ I want to do just like her.» She shifted, closing the album and placing it gently on the floor next to her, moving to sit on her knees between Killian's leg, watching him in the eyes. «I want to catch every moment of our children's lives, of _our_ lives. I want them to be full of memories, the same memories I don't have.»

Killian knew where she came from, they both had had rough starts in life, and if Killian had just few happy memories of his childhood, mostly because of his mother and Liam, Emma had none. She'd been in and out of foster homes for years, and those were memories she would rather forget. He couldn't give her good childhood memories, he couldn't turn back time, but what he could do was giving his children memories they wouldn't forget, memories they'd be fond of and that would show them how much loved they were.

He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and kissed each of Emma's knuckles. «We'll do it, we'll give our children the best memories in the world, what we never had.»

With tears in her eyes, Emma nodded, launching herself into his arms and inhaling his scent, knocking him backwards until he landed on his back with her on him in an awkward mess of limbs.

She felt his thumb brushing her stomach from where his hand was settle on her hip, knowing that even if baby number two wasn't there yet – _yet_ – they still would the best they could to give it the best memories a child could even desire, the same as they had done and kept doing with Henry.

And when Alice Margaret Jones was born almost a year and a half later, the day of her Grandma Mary Margaret's birthday, she already had a photo album already full of memories and another one – and many, many others – ready to be filled.


	5. I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Go

**Hello! This is the proof I actually don't know how to write an OS, nor how to deal with one-worded prompts. I'm sorry about the mistakes, yet I hope you'll like it! Thank you for commens, kudos and follows. Enjoy :)**

Chapter 5 – I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva

Prompt: "speed".

They met running. Of course they met like that. They didn't exactly bump into each other as someone would expect. It wasn't thanks to a dog – that day Roger hadn't wanted to go, bloody lazy Newfoundland he loved with all his heart.

Killian was running, training rather, hoping to get in better shape after his accident, his arm still hurting at times, the scars on his forearm ugly, he was lucky he still had it attached to his body. He still remembered the crash, the screams, the blood, the _pain_.

Emma was running too, it was her way to escape form problems, her matchmaking mother, her job when it became too personal, too much.

Ingrid was a great, _great_ mom, but she'd arrived too late. Not that Emma blamed her, she couldn't when she'd given her everything she possessed now, but all the group homes, the memories, the feelings, those weren't erasable.

She was just tying her shoe when he stopped at the fountain in front of her. And what a mistake. Or blessing. _Definitely a blessing_ , Emma would say. He was wearing dark blue sweatpants topped by a black t-shirt with the logo of his main sponsor – _Charming Inc._ – almost completely faded, and his hair was wet against his forehead.

Emma watched him dip his head under the cold water of the fountain, tiny droplets running down his face and his eyes shone brighter than the sea under the sun. Mouth agape, she stood, recognizing him.

Killian Jones was a famous man, or rather, he was if you watched NASCAR, and Emma didn't but her brother August did. It was thanks to him that she knew who Killian was, and also knew why he was running or why he didn't race in these last months.

«You want an autograph, love?»

His voice – his silky and low and sensual voice – startled her. Emma shook her head. «N-no, I'm sorry, I… bye.»

She ran.

She started to run away from him so fast she almost tripped on her own feet, but what's worse was that he laughed at her. Her cheeks burned.

That was the first time they met.

The second time was at the stables, _her_ world. Emma didn't do races, but she ran still. For Killian, instead, that was his only second time at the stables, but he wasn't her for go riding, but to accompany his little brother Liam – God, that had been quite the scandal – to his lesson. Liam – or Liam Junior or LJ – was usually accompanied by his other brother Liam, whom Emma had met once or twice without knowing who his brother was.

Liam – Junior – was petting a huge Newfoundland in front of Buttercup's box. Buttercup was Emma's horse, a gift August brought back from one of his voyages that had almost caused Ingrid to have a heart attack when she found the mare in her front yard eating her beloved flowers.

The whole scene was worthy of those cheesy puppies videos, with Buttercup sniffing the dog's fur while the same dog was licking the horse's nose. Emma was about to pull out her phone and actually film it when a whistle startled her.

Immediately, the dog trotted towards her, which made her widened her eyes. She stepped aside to avoid the dog but it stopped in front of her, sat down and started to wipe the dust off the terrain with its furry tail.

She looked down at the dog, raising an eyebrow. «And who are you? Did Buttercup bother you?» Emma asked reaching out a hand to pet it.

«This scoundrel is Roger, and I personally believe he's the one who bothered the lady, am I wrong, Roger?»

The dog – Roger – whined and lifted his paw, his big brown eyes sad. Damn, was it normal if she thought Roger was actually _pouting_?

She turned around, facing a Killian Jones she didn't think would be so close to her. Emma took a step back almost tripping over Roger. «N-no, he didn't. We're used to have dogs all around and they don't bother the horses.»

Killian's smile was breathtaking. And maybe Emma actually lost her breath. «It's a gentleman thing, love, he knows he must not bother the ladies.»

 _Is this man real?_ , Emma asked herself, eyes wide. «Again, he didn't bother anyone. He seems a perfect gentleman.»

He smirked, winking at the dog. «He is, but he tends to be a rascal when it comes to beautiful ladies.»

«Much like his owner, I gather?» Emma widened her eyes even more, her hand flew to her mouth. «I-I'm so sor-»

His laugh startled her. «No, no, don't be sorry, I _am_ quite the scoundrel, but always a gentleman.»

«Mhm, always,» she conceded, her cheeks burning under his eyes. «I-uh, I'm Emma. Swan.»

Killian grabbed gently her outstretched hand and brought it towards his mouth, kissing it gently. Her heart started to beat so fast she thought it'd break through her chest and fly away. «It's a pleasure, Swan. I'm Killian Jones, but I think you already knew that. I'm Liam's brother, you… might know him?»

She nodded, her expression still starstruck. «Liam? Oh, yes, yes, yes, Liam. Great kid, he's taken a liking to Buttercup but his favourite is Jolly. He's a fast learner and will probably be ready for an actual horse in less than a year.» Once she could stop the word-vomiting she closed her mouth, biting her lower lip.

«Yeah, his instructor told me. And also Liam – my other brother – told me,» Killian said scratching behind his ear.

«What about you? Do you enjoy riding something else other than cars?»

She wanted to slap herself. Multiple times. Or be swallowed by the ground. Even an apocalypse would do. She couldn't have just said _that_.

If she was red, Killian Jones was _purple_. «I-I…»

«Ididntmeanlikethat,» she rushed to say, cheeks burning and blood boiling in her veins. «I'm sorry. I didn't mean like that. At all.»

Emma saw him exhale and laugh nervously and he would probably flesh that spot behind his ear if he kept scratching it. «Good,» he breathed, visibly relaxed. «I actually went riding. A few times, but nothing too professional.»

«You… you could join Liam for a ride through the woods. Or the beach. I suggest the beach if you're not a professional, or just because it's better. Not too many mosquitoes either.»

It was strange for her. She'd never been so embarrassed in her life, or awkward around men, at all, not even when she was in foster homes. No, it wasn't strange, it was humiliating.

 _Don't say it._ Don't _say it_. «And I think Liam would like that.» _Fuck_.

Killian blinked at that, visibly dumbfounded. _Retreat, Swan, retreat_. «I, uh, yeah, that'd be nice, actually.»

«Good,» Emma rushed, «good. Uh, ask Dorothy, she runs the place. I need to go. Bye.» With those blabbered words, she stepped around him and strode away, knowing all too well he was following her with his oh so blue eyes.

The third time they met, well, they actually crashed into each other. While walking. They were at the mall, Emma trying to find something to buy for little Alexandra, her friend Ashley's daughter. Emma remembered all too well how almost a year before she'd helped Ashley give birth to her in the backseat of Ruby's car while in the middle of nowhere because that old wreck had broken down. Killian, instead, was escaping his manager. Who wouldn't when said manager was Regina Mills? Exactly.

As Emma was exiting the shop with loads of shopping bags in her hands – hey, she was the godmother! – Killian was quickly turning the nearby corner, barrelling full force into her.

«Fuck,» Emma muttered, her tongue hurting like a bitch after it got caught between her teeth. Her ass hurt like a bitch, too, and she might have hit her head pretty hard and ended up in some kind of alternate reality – or pretty vivid erotic dream – because she was sprawled under Killian Jones and damn, he was hot.

Now as red as a tomato, Killian hurried to stand and then helped her up, muttering apologies and his ears were on fire. «I'm sorry, love, I should've watched where I was going. Are you okay?»

His eyes were so blue. «Y-yeah,» she replied, massaging her back and thanking god she hadn't bought anything fragile for Alexandra.

«I, uh… can I offer you a coffee? To apologize,» Killian hurried to add, and she'll be damned if she wasn't a bit disappointed. Yet, she couldn't say no to those blue puppy eyes.

That's how she discovered he liked coffee with a sickening amount of sugar, but who was she to judge, with her hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon to which she added sickening amounts of sugar, too?

That's how she realized he actually had wanted to ask her out but didn't because he'd thought she was shopping for her own child. It was quite hilarious, to be fair, but maybe not so much for Killian.

«So, uh, how old is your child?» Yeah, they were a disaster.

Emma frowned, wondering how he had come up with such a ridiculous question. Embarrassed, he nodded at the bags. «Oh. Oh! No, no, these are gifts for my goddaughter. She's turning one next week.» For some strange reason, Emma wasn't bothered by his curiosity.

«Oh.» There wasn't relief on his face, just confusion. He shook his head. «My apologies… for assuming.»

She smiled, holding back a chuckle when he scratched a spot behind his ear. «Don't worry. I must admit, for a moment I thought Liam was Liam's – the older one. God, this is confusing.»

«We call him LJ, or Junior, but he loves LJ more,» Killian explained. «Yes, us Jones are very similar to one another, strong genes or something like that.»

«So, did you manage to go on that ride?» she asked, wiping a finger through the whipped cream and bringing it to her mouth. Glancing at Killian, she saw his eyes focused on her lips. She ran her tongue over the lower lip. To clean it up from the whipped cream, of course, not to enjoy the way his eyes darkened.

«Aye…» he whispered, his voice low, much like a growl. «Aye, we did, thank you for the suggestion. He loved us spending time together.»

Her heart broke a little, it was clear they didn't spend so much together, and it was also clear it hurt him. «Is it because of your work?» she asked before she could stop herself. His head jerked up, his eyes now trained on her. «I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry-»

«Yes, yes it is,» Killian interrupted her, self-loathing clear in his voice. «I'm usually busy at the circuit, Liam works, too, but has more free time to spend with LJ.»

Emma frowned. «Couldn't he come to your trainings?» Once again, she should've bitten her tongue.

Killian clicked his tongue, it wasn't her business. «I don't want him there, I… I don't want him to see me there,» he confessed, shame in his voice.

Her eyebrows were knitted together in confusion. «But it's your job,» she objected, sipping her hot chocolate. She couldn't understand, though she and August weren't linked by blood, he was always welcomed at the station, sometimes he was even that stupid to follow her during- _Oh._ «You don't want him to see you fail or get hurt.»

Killian nodded slowly. «I know he will anyway, but knowing he won't be there, that he'll be home or somewhere safe it's better.»

Emma worried her lower lip through her teeth. «And what about what he wants?» Before he could reply, she added: «I know you think what's best for him, but you're not protecting him. I know what it feels like, I've been on both sides, I've been pushed away and I pushed people away myself. I ran, that's what I did; I still do it sometimes. Pushing people away, running… you can do it, but it won't solve things, and of course it won't protect LJ.»

«And how did it work out for you?» he bit out, anger in his voice.

«The first times, it was okay, I think I even felt better. Growing up the way I did… it wasn't easy, at first I thought I could be loved, that I could have a family, but it never happened. Not until I was taken in by my mom. After that, I ran again. And again. Until… well, let's say I couldn't run anymore. The difference between you and me, Killian, is that I didn't have anyone, you do, you have people who love you. Acting like we do hurts them more than it hurts you.»

When she looked into his eyes, she saw a flicker of comprehension, because he just _knew_ she was right. Just like her, though, Killian wasn't ready yet to stop running. How ironic, he _was_ a runner, he lived to run, he couldn't just stop. And an abrupt stop… it would just make him crush. He had to work on it, just like she'd worked on her own issues, she still was, but she could help him, if he wanted her to.

«It's not your decision to make.»

«No, it's not,» she conceded, «but you should give your brothers the chance to make the decision, not do it yourself in their place.»

Looking at her watch, she widened her eyes. She had the night shift, and if she wanted to actually go through it without sleeping on her desk and be caught by David, she had to get a few hours of sleep.

«I'm sorry, I need to go, I have the night shift at the station and I _absolutely_ need to sleep.»

He nodded, finishing his coffee as she finished her hot chocolate. «I understand,» Killian replied with a small smile. It then faded, leaving a pained expression. «May I have your number?» At Emma's arched brow, he blushed. «To talk about running and its consequences. I can't talk to Liam, he never ran from his duties, and neither did my friends. With you… you know how it feels.»

After a long moment, she nodded, holding out her hand, asking for his phone. She even wiggled her fingers. As she put her number into his phone, Emma wondered how Killian Jones found himself running from his own family. He was also putting a lot of trust in him, she could be one of those girls who told him what he wanted to hear just to go to the press later.

«Thank you, Emma,» Killian told her, brushing her fingers when he took back the phone. «I've never met someone like you.»

At that, Emma blushed. She was used to compliments, but mostly they were just pick-up lines at which she used to roll her eyes. Killian's, though, was true, he was genuine, which threw her off. «Thank you,» she replied with a smile.

She started to walk away, then turned around. «Me neither.»

The first text came that night. **_Good job_** , it said. Emma's heart started to beat faster in her chest.

The second text was hers. _It's boring_ , she complained. Killian then proceeded to send her funny animal videos until 2am, when sleep overcame him. She resolved to send him more videos, mostly about cats.

And so, their friendship began. They texted, mostly, never actually hanging out because that'd be pushing it too much. Sometimes, they flirted, but nothing serious, none of them was ready for more.

He told her LJ was coming to the practice. That was the first time he called her, anxious and not ready to have his brother there. Emma almost drove to the circuit in the middle of her shift. The same night he sent her a photo of Liam asleep slumped on the couch of his trailer, wearing his shirt.

More photos followed in the following weeks, Emma sent some too, mostly of her poor meals during her shifts and once, just once, a selfie of her with Buttercup during one of their walks as the horse tried to eat her hat. She was laughing, and Killian would always deny the fact that he thought more than once of setting it as his home-screen.

Killian was slowing down, he still felt the need to run sometimes, but at least he didn't hide as much as he used to. He told her LJ wasn't at ease with the thought of his brother crashing – after his accident he'd secretly feared it, but never told Killian or Liam about it. That was the first time they met at The Rabbit Hole, sipping rum and baring their fears.

«You remember when I told you I once couldn't run anymore?» It was her fourth tumbler of rum, liquid courage was something she needed to tell that story. Despite her family telling her she shouldn't feel ashamed, she was, she just couldn't shake that feeling off herself, not even years later.

Killian looked at her, twirling a french fry between his fingers. «I do,» he replied cautiously, knowing where that would lead them.

«I was sixteen,» Emma started, eyes looking at the ceiling, afraid of meeting his gaze, «he was older, not much, just seven years, but enough to know not pursue a girl my age.» That was the reason why she was so invested on cases revolving around teenagers, she didn't want some other girl or boy had her same fate. «Ingrid, my mother, well, foster mom, was trying to adopt me, she'd fostered me for two years and wanted to make it official. At the time I didn't know, I actually thought she wanted to send me away. You see, it wouldn't have been the first time. My brother August was somewhere in Thailand, I think, he's always in places like that, so I didn't know where to go, who I could talk to. Then I met him.»

Her voice broke, tears stinging her eyes. Killian's hand found its way to her, intertwining their fingers in a tight grip.

With a deep breath, Emma nodded, a small grateful smile on her lips but her eyes still sad. «I used to steal minor things, and yes, I know what you're thinking, quite the jump from thief to cop.» For a moment, her eyes lit up. «That time, I was stealing the Bug, the same yellow Bug out there. What I didn't know was that I was stealing a stolen car.»

Finishing the rum in a long gulp, Emma sighed. «We… dated, kind of, we met in secret, stole something until he asked me to run away with him. And I did. We reached Phoenix, but our destination was Florida. He… he told me we could make good money, and I believed him. I went to the station, took the watches and waited for him. Only, the only one who came was a cop.»

Killian closed his eyes, his knuckles white as he clenched his hand into a tight fist. But Emma didn't need his anger in that moment, more so she didn't need his pity. He didn't think, bringing their hands to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers. They'd never been intimate, they hugged in greeting, a rare kiss on the cheek here and there, but nothing more.

The moment Emma stopped struggling and found her breath again, she squeezed his hand and continued. «I was sentenced to eleven months in jail, if I weren't a minor it would've been worse. Mom cried in front of me when she came visiting me the first time.» A moment of silence, broken only by the distant noise of the television in the background. «She told me what she was doing, proving I was wrong. What I couldn't understand was why she didn't blame, why she signed the papers in front of me during that same first visit and hugged me as I cried and apologized. August came two days later, he dropped everything in Thailand and he just sat there with me, talking about a new plot he was working on like he did when we were home and I suddenly felt tired, tired of running from them. I knew I couldn't, they would visit and yes, I could've refused, but what was the point? They'd just keep coming.»

The only thing Killian did was wrapping his arm around Emma and letting her calm down. His fingers through her hair were a balm, his steady heartbeat under her hear soothed her.

«I crashed, Killian, and I don't want you to crash too. It hurts, more than running.»

The bar wasn't the right place for a breakdown, but she guessed it'd seen many. Sniffling, she pulled away, her fingers still intertwined with Killian's. With her other hand she reached up and cupped his jaw, caressing his cheek, the scruff a nice sensation under her skin.

She wanted to kiss him. Actually, she'd wanted to kiss him for a long time. That, however, was not the right time, they both were tipsy and after her story, well, she didn't want him to feel sorry for her and kiss her just because of that.

Instead, Emma leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. «Will you go out with me?» she blurted out, her grip tightening slightly in his hair.

Amused, Killian chuckled lowly. «And here I thought I should be the one asking.»

«Just because you're old.»

He pulled away slightly as Emma opened her eyes. «I am a gentleman.»

«Mhm, I shall ask Roger about this.»

Killian huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. «Alright, I'll go out with you. On one condition: let me plan the evening.»

It was Emma's turn to huff. «I know how to plan a nice date,» she objected, crossing her arm on her chest. She was almost pouting. Almost. Killian found it quite loveable.

«Fine, I'm in your hands,» he conceded, smiling, not mad at all. He was curious, in fact. And he shouldn't have been surprised when that first date was a horse ride on the beach culminating in a picnic on the sand. He had to admit it, Emma Swan did know how to plan a nice date.

After that Saturday, they began dating without any rush. At first, Killian didn't want her at the circuit, unlike LJ she didn't grow up with the fear of him killing himself doing his work. Emma, however, was as stubborn as he was, saying that her own job could be dangerous. That was their first fight, up until Emma showed up at his practice and didn't leave until he was finished.

Yes, the fear of him crushing would always accompany her, but he also had to understand that she was ready to stay instead of running away from her own fears. That night, Killian held her close, realizing that he was in love with her. Of course, he'd began falling for her way before that day, but the moment she'd shown up at the circuit, under the flames of rage, he felt honoured that Emma was ready to fight for him, he felt _loved_.

They were dating for five months now, Killian busy with the races and Emma hellbent on finding the boss of a new drug ring, a cold case that came back after years, when Emma showed up at his house with an unopened bottle of rum and tears in her eyes.

Immediately, Killian wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly until the tears stopped, but not the pain in her heart.

«The boss… the mind behind the drug ring-» A sob interrupted her, her voice muffled against his chest. They were now sprawled on the couch, Emma practically sitting on Killian's lap. «Neal. Neal is the man behind it all. I should've known, I should've figured it out sooner.»

«Oh, Emma, no, you couldn't have,» he tried to soothe her, kissing her forehead as his fingers ran through the blonde tresses. Killian let her cry all her tears, she looked so small in that moment, like a child needing protection.

The bottle of rum sat unopened on the coffee table, and Killian had an idea. Once he was assured Emma had finished crying, he stood up, bringing Emma on her feet with him. «Come with me, love,» he whispered kissing her temple. He led her down to his garage where shiny sport cars were parked. Emma had driven some of them, something not even Liam had. «I know you said you don't want to run anymore, but there's something _I_ can do for you right now.» Looking her straight in the eyes Killian lifted their joined hands, kissing the back of hers. «We can run together, tonight.»

With tears still in her eyes, Emma gaped at him. She'd been the first to tell him he shouldn't run and had fought tooth and nail to try and stop him wherever his instincts told him so. No, no, Emma couldn't go back in that dark place, she couldn't let _him_ go back there, he was more important than her past, more important than running away from her problems and feelings. From _Killian_.

Emma shook her head, cupping his jaw with her free hand. «No, Killian, I don't need to run anymore. I am home, now.»

Killian's breath caught in his throat, the meaning behind her words clear to him as was the immensity of her gesture. He'd never told her he loved her, and he was about to tell Emma, when she stole his thunder.

«I love you.»

Her smile was bright and beautiful and there were tears in both of their eyes. Killian lowered his head and kissed her with all he had in a clash of lips, tongues and teeth. «I love you,» he muffled against her mouth, incapable of pulling away from her.

A joyful laugh erupted from Emma's lips as Killian wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up and spun her around in the dim laugh of the garage.

They kissed again, and again, for what felt like hours but it could've been a year, they kissed until their lips were bruised and them out of breath.

A thought wandered into Emma's mind: she could still enjoy a car ride, after all.

With a wicked smirk, she pulled away from Killian, his reaction a growl that rumbled low in his throat. Reaching behind him, making sure to press her breasts against him, Emma picked up a pair of keys from one of the hooks on the wall. «I'll take the Maserati.»


	6. No soul was left alone in the mayhem of

**Hi! I've finally finished this one. I actually wanted it to be shorter, not a 5.7k monster. Anyways, this has taken an unexpected turn, especially when I wrote about Milah - but the fic called for a "nice" version of her. This is probably why I struggled to finish it :'D**

 **Since the prompt was mayhem, I actually had to work on it a bit, but then Collins dictionary came to my help with the definition "the wilful and unlawful infliction of injury upon a person, esp (formerly) the injuring or removing of a limb rendering them less capable of defending themselves against attack" and I just knew what had to be done. Kind of.**

 **Thank you all for reading! Enjoy!**

Chapter 6 – No soul was left alone in the mayhem of the human race

Promtp: "mayhem".

She had a lead. She _finally_ had a lead. Problem was: her lead was a person. More specifically, a man. Even more specifically, a man in a coma.

Emma was pacing in front of his room, irritating the nurse that stopped by every half an hour to check on his vitals. She actually almost felt pity for that woman, but this was her first lead in more than a year.

Uncapable of doing anything apart from digging a hole in the corridor, or toying with the laces wrapped tightly against her wrist, Emma sighed.

Killian Jones was important. More than important, he was essential. In the last few hours she'd searched _everything_ about him, she'd tried to tie him to Gold, but all she was able to find was his Navy file, which didn't tell her anything relevant. On paper, he didn't seem like someone who would be tied to an assassin and drug ring, yet, he'd been found next to Milah Gold's body.

His career was astonishing to say the least, much like his brother's, and if she was just looking at his file to know more about him on a personal level, well, she would be impressed. And she was, actually, but that wasn't the time to be impressed.

«Could you please stop?»

A harsh voice sounded behind her, making her jump and turn around on the spot. Her feet ached in her sneakers.

In front of her stood Liam Jones. Or what looked more like Liam Jones' ghost. Dark bags under his eyes, a red-eye flight behind himself and way too many coffees in his body, just like her, making the both of them cranky and snappy.

Emma sighed, coming to a stop and itching to start again. «I'm sorry,» she sighed, lowering her head, «I know you don't want me here and I totally understand, but what your brother may know might bring Gold down.» It wasn't the first time she said those words, she almost sounded like a broken record.

«And I know it is important, not only for whatever grudge you hold against him, but even for other victims. You've read my file, you've read Killian's, the three of us have seen many victims, men and women died in our arms. But listen to me carefully, Emma Swan: in that room for you there's another victim, but to me he's my only reason to be alive. So I am sorry if I don't care that much about your investigation.»

Emma sucked in a breath, reading no lies in his eyes, only desperation. If she ever had had a family she would understand him, but Emma had nobody, she was alone. Part of her was scared of that pain Liam Jones wore on his face, yet another part, probably bigger, actually wanted to know how it felt like.

Lowering her head, Emma nodded, signalling him to sit down on one of the plastic chairs. The moment she was seated, she knew what she was going to say, not believing she was actually going to. The laces seemed to burn her skin as she toyed with them. «I lost my partner because of Gold,» she breathed out in a rush.

A paper cup appeared under her nose. «It's tea, probably too sweet, but I thought you'd need it. I would've brought a coffee, but…» he trailed off, the tentative of a smile on his lips.

«Yeah… thanks,» Emma said wrapped her fingers around the cup. The tea was too sweet for her taste, but it would do. At least it wasn't _that_ bad. «Graham… he died in my arms, a bullet hit him straight in the heart. We were doing nothing, it didn't happen during a raid or something, we were just taking a coffee between shifts. I remember it was very hot, around the middle of August, the road was trafficked and we were discussing how he couldn't adopt an actual wolf. Nobody heard the shot, all _I_ heard was Graham's last breath before he fell on the ground, dead before he hit it. I wasn't scared they could kill me too, I was too shocked to think about something else than Graham.»

She sniffled, tears prickling her eyes. She hadn't thought about Graham in a long time, it had been one year already and she'd poured herself into this case before her boss had told her to stop. Or, well, he'd ordered her to. There was a difference.

«I knew it had been Gold, we were getting too close. It wasn't just a warning, Gold searched Graham's apartment and took everything he might have had about him. I knew there was something Graham wasn't telling me, and I was too stupid to even think any of us could be safe when hunting down a criminal like Gold. We weren't rookies, we were a team, we knew how to defend ourselves, but neither of us expected Gold to kill any of us in cold murder and in the middle of the day.»

She dried her tears with the back of her hand, but Liam held out a handkerchief for her to take. Smiling sadly, Emma accepted it and cleaned her face. She didn't like to cry, especially not in front of strangers, but she'd kept her emotions buried within her for far too long.

«I'm so sorry for your loss,» Liam told her, placing a hand on her knee, enough to be comfortable but not flirty – she didn't need that now and he didn't seem the type, «I've lost men under my watch, friends, too. I understand the pain, the need to revenge their death. I… before my discharge, I insisted to tell all my comrades' families of their passing. It's been hard, but it gave me closure. I was responsible, I still feel so, it's something only time and love keep at bay, but it never leaves. Graham's death won't abandon you, but you can stop feeling as if it was your fault. It wasn't. It was Gold's.»

Emma smiled tightly, covering his hand with hers. «I'm sorry, too. For everything; your comrades and your brother… Everything. It wasn't fair from me, I should've tried and be a decent person.»

Liam nodded slightly. «I should've been nicer, too. I'm glad you told me. I'm sorry for having been an asshole, it's just…»

«You've already been terrified for him in the past, you didn't think he could be hurt again.» Emma didn't know how she knew that, she just did.

He nodded. «When we were in the Navy it was always like this but… _never_ like this, I thought I was done being scared for his safety since he wasn't supposed to risk dying every day anymore, even after he decided to be a PI. And now _this_.»

«Your brother is strong, the fact that he made it out of the Navy unscratched and alive says something about him, doesn't it? What happened isn't your fault, but Gold's.»

How ironic, she was using the same words he'd just told her. Yet, they were true. As much as Emma blamed herself, Graham's death wasn't her fault, just like Killian's incident wasn't Liam's fault.

«What are you going to do now?»

Emma sighed. «When your brother will wake up and will be able to talk, I will have to ask him if it was Gold or if he has something I can use against him.»

«What about his safety?»

«Eh,» Emma sighed again, «I can arrange witness protection, but something tells me your brother won't like going into hiding, especially because it's personal for him, now, and with him being a private investigator, he might want to be involved in the investigation.»

At that, Liam snorted. «He definitely will,» he confirmed, a sad, wistful smile forming on his face, «always a stubborn arse.»

Emma chuckled slightly. «Must be a family trait,» she said, biting her lower lip. It wasn't the time to joke, but she couldn't help it. It probably was a coping mechanism, whatever. Yet, she had one more question to ask. «What do you know about Milah Gold? Did she and your brother…»

A long sigh escaped Liam's lips, his hand running through his hair as he tightened his grip on the paper cup. «Killian told me he was in love, that she would leave Gold for him. That was three years ago. From what Killian has told me, they've not been together for over a year, I don't know why.»

Pursing her lips, Emma wondered if he knew what exactly had happened. «You do know he was found next to Milah's dead body, don't you?» She wanted to be cautious, it was undisclosed information after all, but her gut also told her Liam would be a valuable asset, just like Killian would be once he'd fully recovered. Which was absurd: she didn't know either man.

Liam lifted his gaze, his mouth a thin line of disapproval and anger. «No, I didn't know. But I also don't think he was back with her.»

Emma shook her head. «No, I don't think so either. What I believe is that she wanted to give Killian information… or that she had enough of Gold and wanted out. Maybe she believed Killian would be able to help her getting a new identity.»

«How do you know?»

Eh, how did she know? Well, she… _knew_. And she had proofs: a statement of Milah's lawyer saying she wanted out, but since there was a prenup and the only one who would be in the wrong was Milah since she'd been the one to have an affair. Milah had also recorded a video in which she probably testified against her husband, a video Emma had never seen because, of course, Gold had made it disappear.

«Before… Graham's death, she went to a lawyer, gave him a video in case something happened to her, but the lawyer was attacked and the video stolen. Now he's under witness protection.»

A frown appeared on Liam's face. «And you think your partner had found the video and was murdered because of it?»

Slowly, Emma nodded. «It makes sense, though it wouldn't explain how he came to have it when Gold supposedly had stolen it. And it wouldn't explain why Gold didn't destroy it.»

Liam was about to say something when doctors and nurses rushed past them and into Killian's hospital room, making the two jump on their feet. Emma let Liam go after the doctors, knowing her place but also feeling dread invading her. She couldn't explain it, that sensation didn't belong on a professional plan, it was _personal_.

 _Get a grip, Emma_ , she scolded herself, looking at the room with an apprehensive expression. Though she didn't want to admit it – her walls screaming at her she _shouldn't_ – she cared about Killian's wellness, he was a human being after all.

Unable to stay put, she started pacing again, shivering when an anguished scream reached her ears. The tea grew cold in the paper cup, the clock kept ticking the hours away. She got hungry but couldn't stomach eating; nobody had left the room yet, save from one or two nurses going to fetch some medicaments and who wouldn't give her any information.

Finally, the medical équipe left the room, doctor Whale – an old-date friend – stopped to tell her Killian was weak and in shock because of the loss of his hand, but overall, despite the amount of injures, he was doing well, but it wasn't advisable to question him today. Emma being Emma, though, smiled politely at Victor and ignored him. One thing she could do, however: she could let Killian do whatever he would do. She knew she would want to talk to the police immediately when she couldn't investigate herself.

Breathing in deeply and straightening her red leather jacket, Emma rasped her knuckles against the door, knowing Liam would be the one deciding if he wanted to open it or not.

Thankfully for her, he decided to let her in, a warning in his blue eyes.

«I won't question him,» she rushed out in a hushed tone. «But I need to let him know he'll be having a guard in front of his door and all the implications of the case.»

Keeping his lips pressed into a thin line, Liam nodded.

Nodding herself, Emma stepped around Liam, her eyes landing on Killian Jones for the first time. His photo didn't bring him justice, and even if he was all bruised and battered, he was handsome. Cuts and bruises marred his face, making her wonder how much all that was hurting him.

«'ello, beautiful,» he told her the moment his blue eyes met hers, a smile gracing his face and decidedly making him hurt all over.

She couldn't help but smile, amused he'd be trying to flirt with her. Schooling her features, knowing it was the drugs talking. «My name's Emma Swan, NYPD. I won't insult your intelligence, but you have to understand what I'm saying, alright?»

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply as if to try to keep the pain in check. It scared her, because that's exactly how she would react, how she _did_ react when hurt, snuffing out the pain and putting up walls so no one could see how really broken she was, both physically and emotionally.

«I know the procedure, love,» he replied, his voice low but strong. «I assume… I assume someone will be guarding the door.»

Emma nodded. «I will come check in on you in a few days, once you'll be cleared and won't be high on painkillers.»

Jones nodded slowly, looking her in the eyes, suddenly lucid. «As you wish,» he murmured, relaxing into the hospital bed.

Casting a careful glance at Liam, Emma cleared her throat. «Get well soon, Jones.» With that, she left, a faint smile on her face. Maybe things would change, and maybe Killian Jones had all the answers she needed.

* * *

Showing up with a hot cocoa wouldn't be nice, after all, he wouldn't be given anything solid until he felt better, and surely chocolate wouldn't be included in his diet any time soon. And showing up with flowers wasn't really her thing. But when she'd passed the Disney Store on the way to the hospital, the big feline grin had captured her. It was silly – it was _stupid_ – but, somehow, she couldn't begin to care if it was.

So, when Emma carefully placed the shopping bag onto his lap, noticing how Killian's eyebrows were almost touching his hairline, she just pretended she wasn't blushing like a schoolgirl. Looking around just so she wouldn't look at him, Emma noticed stuffed animals all around, including lots of flowers and chocolates. _Why didn't I just go with the hot chocolate?_

«Hello, love,» Killian said slowly, eyes trained on the bag. It had been just three days – Victor kept forbidding her to even _enter_ the hospital –, days spent cataloguing evidences and trying to understand what Milah wanted from Killian.

She'd examined Jones' clothes and belongings too, but nothing. On his phone there was a short call made from a burning phone Emma'd found on Milah's body, probably used to set up the meeting.

«Morning,» she replied, suddenly nervous. «You feeling better?»

At that, one of his eyebrows _actually_ touched the hairline. _Dammit, Swan, didn't you have a better question?_ , she scolded herself. She was about to say something when Killian opened his mouth. «Painkillers help,» he started slowly, darkly, «but there are wounds that won't heal.» _Milah. His hand_.

Killian was looking out of the window, his jaw clenched. He clearly didn't want her pity, yet she couldn't help the sadness that gripped at her heart like a fist. «I wish I could've done something to protect Milah. And you.»

Snapping his head towards her, Killian's eyes widened in disbelief. «Yes,» he conceded, and it hurt her more than what she was ready to admit, «but Milah didn't trust the police for a reason. Although… she might've trusted you.»

Oh, Emma knew very well what he meant: many of her colleagues were corrupted, she'd watched many be handcuffed and dragged away, hell, _she_ had arrested many of them, even her boss. «But she trusted you.»

Killian bristled at her words, almost scaring her. «And look what good it did her,» he seethed, the muscle in his jaw pulsing wildly.

«It's not your fault, Killian,» she said, both of them wincing at her use of his first name, «Milah's death was something you could've not avoided.» Emma didn't want to tell him, didn't want to break him even more, but she had to, somehow she knew he wanted to hear the truth, no matter how much it'd hurt him. «She was staying in a motel room, had checked in three days before meeting you.» Emma swallowed, remembering all too well the smell of death. «The motel blew up yesterday.»

She wondered if she should call a dentist for him, fearing for his teeth. _His molars must be smooth as fuck_ , Emma mused, and _no_ , she wasn't wondering if she could test how exactly his teeth felt against her skin. _The case, Swan_.

«You don't think it was done with the intent of just erasing eventual evidences, do you?» Emma was almost afraid of his dark tone: grief, anger, pain, desire to avenge his former love and to kill a man, all bottled up in the same weak body? It wouldn't end well.

Emma shook her head. «Whatever she had, whatever she _knew_ is what signed her death sentence.» She didn't add that, if only Milah had come to her, she might have been still alive, she couldn't promise him that. Not that it would matter anyway, Milah _was_ dead, just like his hand was lost; there was no turning back.

«She didn't deserve to die.»

«Many don't,» Emma said, knowing it would anger him, but she couldn't let him wallow in self pity any longer. She needed answer, and she needed them now. That earned her a scoff from Killian. She pretended it didn't hurt.

Yet, Emma didn't expect him to sigh in defeat. She wondered if, maybe, he'd already told Milah goodbye when they ended their relationship. It didn't matter – it _shouldn't_ matter to her.

«I assume you didn't find anything on the crime scene, nor on my clothes or on…» Killian gulped, his eyes fixated on some inexistent point out of the window.

«No, and, well, the motel didn't give us many answers either.» Emma didn't want to play that card, she hated it with her entire being even if it might not look like it, even if she was good at pretending playing with a person's feelings didn't affect her. «You are the only one that could the means to bring Gold down.»

After a long minute of silence, as Killian's finger ran up and down the edge of the paper bag still in his lap, he turned his head towards her, looking Emma dead in her eyes. «Do you know why that crocodile took my hand?»

It took her by surprise, him talking about his hand when the shock hadn't probably passed yet. Maybe it was part of his therapy or something; he surely would need it.

Emma wasn't stupid, and she knew Gold, how his archaic mind worked; she just didn't know it well enough to stop him. «He thought you a thief, because you tried to steal from him.» She'd spent hours tracking down his and Milah's relationship, founding next to nothing. Which was more than she expected to find, actually.

«Aye,» Killian murmured, his hand trembling slightly in rage, «but it wasn't like that, it's never been like that. Milah knew what Gold was doing, she isn't… _wasn't_ stupid.» He breathed in deeply, his face scrunching up in pain as he did so. «When her son died, she thought Gold would stop, that he would mourn his only child's death, but he didn't. He was so consumed by revenge that he became a monster himself. Not that he was any better before, of course, but he wasn't the man she'd married anymore.»

Of course, Baelfire Gold's death had been all over the papers at the time, a ten-year-old left to rot in a field? It was all people could talk about for _months_. When it had happened, Emma was just a rookie, her colleagues trying so hard to find the killers they'd involved her, too. She remembered the first time she'd seen Robert Gold in all his fury, almost beating another rookie for not knowing who he was and not having the answers he wanted. It was in that moment that her hatred for the man began.

«But, as long as she didn't leave him or was seen in public with you, he was okay with you two being together?» She almost slapped herself for her bluntness, but those were questions that needed an answer.

Killian frowned, as if he'd never thought about it that way, probably thinking their secret was safe. No, he seemed to know better than that, she wouldn't insult his intelligence. Slowly, he started to talk. «We always feared he'd discover our affair, so we never went around holding hands or something. It wasn't… I loved her,» Killian stated, eyes still locked with Emma's, «part of me always will, but we always knew, in our hearts, that our relationship wasn't meant to last. I was way younger than her, and I used her to overcome what I've seen when serving in the Navy. Sure, I had my brother and every psychiatrist I could find on the phone book, but Milah… she was different, because she did give me love, but she also needed it from me. We were a mess, and used each other to cope with our losses.»

Emma stayed silent, not knowing why Killian was telling her how things between him and Milah were, she didn't need that. Yet, she couldn't find it in herself to stop him.

«I believe Gold knew, just like I always knew Milah would never leave him. No matter how hard I tried to convince her, she never budged. At last, I lost hope she ever would.»

«That's when you two broke up.»

His head moved, nodding. «Over a year and a half ago. It was for the best, even if it took me a while to understand it, but we would've never been safe anywhere, and Milah… she was already dying, she started to waste herself away the day Bae died. I just kept her alive for a little bit longer.»

There was self-loathing in his voice; Emma had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself from taking his hand. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve to _know_ he hadn't been able to save yet another life.

«I then took matters into my own hands, searching for anything dirty about Gold, doing the police's work, digging into all I could find and coming up with nothing.»

«Did you know about Milah's lawyer?»

«Aye, but only after he was put in witness protection. She went to him before we separated; it was the breaking point: she knew she couldn't escape, that he would always find her. But she was still alive, if you could ever call that life, and that was all that mattered.» Killian looked carefully at Emma, as if afraid of what he was about to say. «I know about your partner.»

Emma sucked in a breath. Of course he knew, if he'd followed every one of Gold's moves, he must know about Graham. It didn't lessen the pain, though. Her nails dug deeper into her flesh. «Graham… he was in possession of the video Milah had given the lawyer, wasn't he?» She didn't want to hear the answer, fearing it with all her being. Theorizing about it was one thing, knowing for sure would make her feel horrible for not having tried to search for it harder.

But then Killian nodded, and she felt as if the room was spinning around her. She heavily sat down on one of the chairs, her breaths short. «I didn't know she'd gone to him, not until…» he trailed off, and she didn't need to ask or finish for him to know what he wanted to say.

After a few minutes of utter silence, in which Emma could only hear the beating of her heart in her ears, she lifted her head, looking at him. «Why did Milah came to you? After the lawyer, after… Graham… she wouldn't have done that if it meant risking your life.»

A sad smile appeared on his face. «She never asked me to do anything, that meeting was a goodbye.»

 _Oh_. Emma hadn't thought about that. Milah wanted to say goodbye to the only person she cared about that was still alive before going turning Gold in. Emma wondered if Milah wanted to come to her. She closed her eyes, bile rising in her throat at the question she was about to ask. «We didn't find anything on her; do… do you think she hid whatever information she had somewhere?»

«Just wait a minute, Swan, won't you? Storytime isn't over yet,» he told her with a cheeky smile, and Emma couldn't fathom how he could be joking in a moment like that. She hoped he wasn't high on painkillers again. «Where was I? Oh, aye, the meeting. I was about to convince Milah to let me help her with her plan, whatever it was, when a bullet pierced right through her heart. She didn't even have the time to say something, she just crumbled to the ground, dead.»

A lump had formed in Emma's throat. No matter how high and thick her walls were, they all crumbled down at Killian's words as he recreated a story identical to what she'd lived. She closed her eyes, tears prickling her eyes.

«I took the micro SD from her corpse, it was still warm.» His eyes were now staring again into the void. «Gold came out of nowhere: he'd been watching us the whole time. I was out of my mind, threatening to kill him right there and then, but he was quicker, using a bloody cutlass to cut off my hand. He'd seen me taking what he wanted from Milah and had assumed it was still in my left hand. He didn't even check, he just picked up my hand like a bloody trophy and walked away.»

Emma wanted to vomit. She'd seen her fair share of disgusting things, corpses whose intestines were sprawled all over the concrete, victims of serial killers dressed and positioned as fairytale characters; she should've been used to this, but she wasn't.

«Are you alright, lass? Your face is turning green.» There was concern in the man's voice, as if he was _actually_ preoccupied about her well-being.

Emma snorted; it wasn't she who had lost her hand or had so many injuries it was painful to even breathe. «Never been better,» she lied through her teeth, a fake smile lifting the corners of her lips. She turned serious a moment later, when she could clearly see him without dark spot obscuring her visions. «You said Gold _assumed_ the micro SD was still in your left hand, but I didn't find anything on your clothes or on your phone.»

Killian smiled at her confusion, a smirk tinged with sadness but a smirk nonetheless. «Before I lost consciousness, I hid it. I've always been quick with my hands, so before he severed my hand, I tossed it into my right one.»

With wide eyes and mouth agape, Emma stared at Killian, possibly in shock. No, okay, in _complete_ shock.

«That's _awesome_.»

Of all the things Emma could've said, she decided to compliment his skills. She didn't ask him where the micro SD was, nor was she enraged he hadn't told her that at the beginning of their meeting. No, Emma was simply too stunned by what he'd done, by his brilliant and amazing cleverness that she actually _complimented_ him. There must've been something wrong with her head, for sure.

Her not-so-conventional reaction made Killian chuckle nervously, and she couldn't help but notice how the tips of his ears had coloured a deep shade of red. Their talk had taken an unexpected turn to say the least, but she had to take it back on a professional level. _Oh, yeah, Swan, who is so professional they bring a stuffed animal to a witness?_

Ignoring that annoying voice in her head, Emma squared her shoulders and looked at Killian with a mask on her face. «I need that card,» she said, knowing her case depended on it. «Please.»

He'd suddenly turned serious too, even managing to look menacing as he was wrapped in a hospital gown and a robe, propped up against the pillows and the Disney shopping bag still on his lap. « _I_ don't have it.»

Emma narrowed her eyes. «Believe me, I know. Not on yourself right now, at least. But it wasn't in your belongings nor on the crime scene either, so, unless you threw it into the sewers, you must have hidden it. Where?»

«Why should I tell you?» He sounded like a petulant child, but Emma couldn't blame him: had she been in his position, she would've not trusted the police either.

«Try something new, Jones, it's called trust,» she replied, lifting her eyebrows.

He scoffed, then shook his head. «How can I know you won't be the next one? I don't want to risk other people's lives if I can avoid it.»

Even though it was extremely touching and warmed her heart in a way she decidedly ignored – or tried to – Emma couldn't let him get away with it. «I'm a big girl, Jones, I can handle it. Plus, this is _my_ investigation, it's already a miracle the feds haven't been involved. I can't…» she gulped, knowing this would hurt him – something she normally wouldn't care about when she needed witnesses to testify or criminals to confess – «I can't wait for you to be back in shape: the moment the card is in my hand, Robert Gold is a condemned man.»

But Killian Jones stayed stubbornly silent, his only hand curled into a fist on his lap next to the untouched bag, the muscle in his jaw pulsing.

Biting back a defeated sigh, Emma stood from the chair she'd collapsed into, knowing she had to go over the evidences once more, hoping she wouldn't have to go back to the crime scene, not now that Killian had told her how everything happened.

Determined not to show him she was giving up on talking to him, Emma straightened her back and almost marched right out the door. She was about to open it, hand on the handle, when his voice caught her off guard.

«Swan?» She spun around, eyes wide. «The Captain Hook pen you found in the pocket of my jacket, try to twist the hook.»

* * *

It had taken them six months. Well, the trial had lasted six months – pretty quick, but they had indisputable evidences of his crimes he couldn't even pay himself a decent lawyer since his bank accounts were all frozen – but it was finally over.

She'd visited Graham's tomb that afternoon, right after she'd been able to slip away from the reporters, telling him everything that had happened during those long months. Even if she wasn't exactly a religious person, Emma somehow knew Graham was listening, and he was now ready to find peace, just like her, knowing that Gold was behind bars and would pay for everything he'd done.

Ignoring the first fat drops of rain hitting her shoulders and hair, Emma climbed the stairs of her porch, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw a paper bag in front of the door. Her mind ran straight to threats in the form of bullets or dead rats or even bombs before she noticed it actually was a Disney shopping bag.

Picking it up carefully, she peered inside, only seeing a sea of green. Confused, Emma grabbed what she assumed was a stuffed animal, only to burst out laughing at the sight of it. Of course he'd gifted her the stuffed crocodile from Peter Pan.

«I'm glad you find it funny, love.»

His voice caught her by surprise – again, just like the last time they spoke in his hospital room, not even exchanging a few words during the trial – making her turn around, the stuffed crocodile clutched tightly against her chest.

«Kil- Mr. Jones, uh…»

«Killian is fine, Swan,» he cut her off, a small smile on his lips at her confusion.

Emma blushed a little. «Killian,» she breathed, grateful he couldn't hear her frantic heartbeat, «w-what are you doing here?» She didn't ask him how he knew where she lived, since he was a goddamned PI.

She watched as he ran his hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed. «I wanted to ask you out. On a date.»

 _Well_ , Emma clearly wasn't expecting _that_. Not that she hadn't thought about it, but with the investigation still open and him in therapy – _yes_ , she knew he was seeing a psychiatrist – it just never was a good time for dating.

Some would find it strange, after all they'd met only once – twice, though neither of them counted their first meeting – and then, for six months, just cordial looks from one side of the courtroom to the other. Yet, both of them felt an attraction simply too difficult to ignore, and now that they were both free, they could actually explore it.

It scared the shit out of her.

«Pick me up at eight?» Emma's voice was hesitant, but a hopeful smile bloomed on her face anyway, making Killian smile in return.

«Sounds perfect.»

But, in the end, it was worth it.

(And of course Killian proposed at Disneyland.)

(Both Croco and Cheshy took residence on the shelf above the fireplace in their home.)

(It was short lived, though: their children just had to claim their parents' favourite stuffed animals as theirs, after all.)


	7. Say it with a flower, seal it with a kis

**Whew, it's been too long since I've updated this series, but hey, day seven is finally here! It's (not quite) Lieutenant Duckling fluff. I had this whole idea but the fic went down another road, but part of the original idea did find its way into the fic - all because I rewatched La Seine no Hoshi (Star of the Seine) one too many times with my niece and nephew.**

 **Hope you like it!**

 **PS, if you want, come say hi to me on my tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm ;)**

 _→ prompt: "gilding a lily"._

 ** _Say it with a flower, seal it with a kiss_**

«This is a gift from Master Jones,» her mother told her, placing the flower crown upon her head, using some hairpins to hold it in place, her long blonde hair loosely braided at the nape of her neck, curly strands escaping it, giving her a false sensation of freedom.

As much as she liked to think so, Emma wasn't free, not exactly: she was a Princess, and with the title came duties, such as marriage. _Especially_ marriage. Which meant she had to soon find a suitor, one her parents – and the council – would approve of. Not her. Well, not entirely, at least.

Even though her parents were True Love, Emma still had to respect the laws, stupid, archaic, laws written by men and intended for men only. Which meant, her husband must be noble and preferably one with whom form an alliance.

All her life, Emma had wondered what it would be like marrying for love, even if her partner was a lowly subject of hers. Especially… She shook her head, careful not to ruin her hairdo, she didn't need to be reprimanded once more by her mother that evening.

«It's lovely,» she commented. It was more than lovely, it was beautiful, attentively crafted. Gypsophilas, white roses, wildflowers and tiny leaves formed the crown, matching her gown. Her favourite flower, however, was the middlemist, but she'd never told Killian, _aehm_ , Master Jones that. However, he knew. Emma wasn't sure how exactly he'd acquired that knowledge, but he had.

Biting back a sigh, Emma stood, her feet already aching in her shoes and she'd not even started dancing yet! Her heart fluttered at the thought that there would be someone she wouldn't tell no if he asked her for a dance. Unfortunately, that someone would never do that.

Perhaps… perhaps she could take matters into her own hands. Emma blushed at the thought, the only thing stopping her from actually doing it apart from her introvert nature was the fear of being rejected.

As far as she knew, in fact, he could have someone he was courting. Perhaps he fancied someone and she had no hope of catching his attention.

Suddenly remembering her mother was still there, Emma squared her shoulder and walked out of the room, skin flushed from the tip of her ears to her cleavage. Snow clearly disapproved, the frown on her face a clear sign.

The ball was boring. Obviously. Rarely those events weren't, especially when they were held in honour of some guest. Sure, her mother always tried to give each important guest an unforgettable and personal welcome when they came to Misthaven. Emma didn't understand Snow's love for such big events. In all honesty, Emma didn't care about being a princess at all.

«Duckling,» her father greeted her, placing a light kiss on her cheek, «you look radiant.»

Emma blushed gracefully: the only one who ever was true in his compliments was the King. Although he might have been a bit biased, David was honest.

«Thank you.» She adjusted her gown, the almost-blinding white of the fabric shimmering under the candlelight. It was rather beautiful, the hem of the skirt decorated by shiny silver embroidery shaped like flowers that climbed up to her waist and then up to her bodice, the sleeves slightly falling from her shoulders and continuing down her arms like bells. She looked like a bride, which wasn't as appealing as her mother thought.

As she'd thought, the ball was boring; not even an hour into the celebration, the muscles of her face hurting from all the smiles she was forced to plaster on her face and her feet aching. They wouldn't if some kind of prince from Oz – a very strange thing considering that Oz was no monarchy and there were no rulers – didn't step on her feet every other moment. At one point, Emma had to bite her tongue so hard she thought she would cut it off.

Thankfully for her, her father swept in and saved her feet from further damage. Right now, in fact, Emma was trying to hide away from any possible suitor. It wasn't an easy task, her presence required by many and sought by even more people. It was exhausting.

In the distance, dimly lit ships floated on dark waters, making her wish she could just sail away. In about a week, she would, but alas not forever, nor for long. It wouldn't be a pleasant journey either: although she loved Alexandra dearly, Emma didn't want to attend her birthday ball.

Salty breeze moved strands of hair, now almost silver under the starlight. It would've been fascinating hadn't she been such in a bad mood.

«A red rose can't go unnoticed in a field of snow.»

The male voice behind her startled her, making her heart beat wildly in her chest. Turning around, Emma brought a hand to her heaving bosom, air escaping her lungs as she realized it was Master Jones who'd spoken.

It was quite strange to see him outside his beloved and holy sanctuaries, the greenhouse and the garden. For example, the flower decorations inside, those beautiful bouquets she wanted to steal and put in her chambers, Killian had prepared them in the greenhouse, only for the servants to be the ones to bring them in the ballroom.

«Apologise, your Highness,» he said, bowing his head, «I didn't mean to startle you.»

A smile blossomed on her face, all she wanted to do was put her fingers under his chin and force him to look her in the eye. Perhaps, Emma only wanted a pretext to touch him. «You needn't worry, Master Jones, your presence is one I welcome gladly.» If possible, his complexion reddened even more. It made her grin grow wider. «Oh! I wanted to thank you for the flower crown. I love it.»

He'd brought his blue eyes back on hers, breath catching in her throat. What her heart did when he smiled, however, could not be described. «I'm glad. You're beautiful.»

Lips parted, Emma felt as if the balcony had crumbled beneath her but she was still able to stay afloat. Was it the frantic beating of her heart? She shook her head slightly. «I-I… Thank you,» she stammered, absentmindedly licking her lips, «you're not bad yourself either.»

Killian let out a soft, quiet gasp, a noise that would have Emma laughing softly at if she wasn't so intent on studying his clothes. She'd rarely seen him in such an elegant attire, the times she visited the greenhouse and saw him working there, or the even fewer times in which he stepped foot inside the castle in places that weren't his quarters, Killian Jones was always impeccably dressed, white and light shades of green or blue wrapping around his toned body, his nimble fingers with dirt under the nails if he was planting seeds or meticulously clean in every other case. Emma knew his habits were more a residue of his life in the Navy, one he couldn't serve in anymore after his brother's death.

Tonight, however, Killian Jones was more elegant than usual, with leather pants – which Emma tried not to stare at for too long, mostly for her own sake and the one of her heart's – a white shirt topped by a red velvet vest, such a bold colour for his standards. What shocked her the most, was the leather coat that completed his look.

«Pirate.»

The word escaped her lips before she could restrain herself. She paled, eyes wide in fear: the last thing she wanted was offend him.

But Killian Jones managed to surprise her once more. He chuckled. Admittedly, the blush tinging his cheeks had not disappeared, but it was now accompanied by a grin. A shy one, but a grin nonetheless. «Not exactly what I was aiming for, I must admit, but I didn't want to outshine those… gentlemen.» He cleared his throat before pronouncing the last word, restraining himself before saying something not fit for a lady's ears. Emma bit her tongue to keep herself from asking him to speak freely. She felt as if she could be bold and free with him.

She tilted her head, a smile pulling at her lips. «Believe me, Master Jones, despite your efforts, you failed in your intent.»

One of his black eyebrows rose high on his forehead, a reaction that had Emma bite on her cheek to keep herself from smiling even more. «That so?» he muttered, but Emma was sure he didn't mean to say it out loud if the deeper shade of red colouring his ears was any indication.

Ducking her head, Emma nodded slowly, glancing away from him. She wasn't sure why she'd been so bold, but what confused her the most was that she'd liked their little exchange more than she thought she should have.

«I'll take my leave, then, your Highness. I must've not followed you out here when you clearly wanted to escape everyone's attentions.» He was about to turn around and leave when her voice stopped him.

«Please, don't!» Emma begged him, breaking all the rules in the book. Realizing what she said, Emma opened and closed her mouth as she tried to come up with a reason why he should stay, a reason that wouldn't involve her own selfishness. «I know this is unorthodox, but… can I have this dance?»

If Master Jones was astonished before, now he was utterly shocked. «It would be an honour, Princess,» he replied, bowing slightly and offered her his arm to go back inside. Emma's fingers wrapped around the buttery leather, sensing through the layers the strong muscles beneath.

Albeit having talked to him several times, the only physical contact they ever had was a casual one, just once, when he handed her a middlemist. This was too much and too little at the same time.

The moment they stepped back into the ballroom together, everyone seemed to stop talking, surprised gasps echoing against the high walls. Emma flushed a deep red but held her chin high. Thankfully, the music had not stopped and, as soon as she and Killian had bowed to each other, the other couples began dancing again, still giving them quick, curious glances.

Emma's breath caught in her throat as soon as she wrapped her fingers against Killian's, stiffening a bit when he felt his other hand on her waist.

«What is it, your Highness?» Killian inquired, searching her eyes from beneath his dark lashes.

Glancing away from him, Emma tightened her grip on his hand. «I'm just afraid,» she admitted, shyly looking up at him, «I've never had a good dance partner aside from my father. Tonight was no better.»

A warm, kind smile spread over his face, dimples forming on his cheeks. «There's only one rule, Princess,» he told her, securing her hand over his shoulder, «pick a partner who knows what he's doing.»

And then he started to move, guiding her through the dancefloor with such gracefulness she found herself impressed by his coordination and knowledge of the steps. Mostly, though, Princess Emma was impressed by the man himself: he was nothing like her suitors, always stumbling over one another to earn her affections while Killian, simply with his presence and quick glances, made her heart beat faster than ever other man ever could.

Against protocol, they danced together through three dances consecutively, evoking shock and disdain in the other guests. Or rather, in those who not so secretly aimed to be the ones spinning her around the room and put the bright smile she had now on her face. Not that most of them cared about her happiness whatsoever.

When the third song came to an end, Emma felt dizzy, drunk, almost, drunk on that happy feeling she'd never experienced before that night. How, people would wonder, how could she feel so happy only now, only with him, when she'd been pampered all her life. It wasn't about comforts, it was about being complete. And with someone only after her title and money, how could she be?

Perhaps… perhaps with someone like Killian she could be.

* * *

Emma covered her eyes with her forearm, moaning in pain at the light flooding her room. That was probably her mother's doing. Why couldn't she just leave her alone? Emma sighed, burying her head beneath her pillow to escape the light.

She'd been home for three days already, three days spent in bed, throwing up livers, lungs, heart and even her _soul_.

Of course she'd feel awful _after_ her trip, as if she'd not been visited by the green-eyed monster at all the balls held for Alexandra's birthday. It'd been overwhelming and tiring, so much Emma slept for almost an entire day when she embarked for the journey home.

Curling up on herself to find a bit of warmth, Emma tried to imagine what Master Jones was doing, wondering which flower he'd planted and grown in her absence. Had he ever thought about her at all or what she felt that night at the ball was only her foolish imagination?

The week before her departure they'd exchanged only pleasantries, formal nods in each other's direction and shy smiles. More than once she'd wondered if the man she'd danced with was the same one she admired from afar. If only she knew how Killian looked at her whenever she glanced away, torn and longing.

A knock, too loud, echoed in her ears. Whining, Emma covered her head with the quilt, knowing she would come up for air in a few minutes, sweating even more.

The door opened as her prayers went unheard. Of course, it was her mother, bringing her more ginger tea. As if Emma wanted more ginger tea. She would feel sick – _again_ – if she smelled more ginger.

«Oh, honey,» her mother murmured, concern lacing her tone. The Queen didn't try to move the cover from above her head, nor Emma felt the mattress dip. When Snow spoke once more, it was to give her the cure she needed. Or rather, the cure her soul and heart needed. «I've brought you some peppermint tea. Master Jones was very firm in his opinion that you should try this other method.»

Emma almost leapt out of her bed at her words, heart palpitating in her chest at the mention of the man who filled her thoughts. Many times Alexandra or Melody caught her staring at nothing in particular, questioning her about her dreamy sighs and heart eyes.

The moment she heard the clicking sound of the door closing behind her mother's back, Emma threw the blankets aside, cold assaulting her skin and seeping through the soaked shift. She didn't care, all she cared about was the fact that he'd sent her a cup of tea. It didn't matter if he'd been the one brewing it, it was the thought tha- _Oh_.

On the tray, next to the teacup – one belonging to her favourite set, with light blue decorations that recalled the sea – was a middlemist. A soft sigh escaped her lips, hand reaching out to take the flower, rolling the stem between her fingers, gently, admiring the different shades of pink in the petals' creases.

Only when she noticed the parchment tied to the flower she came out of her reverie. A smile pulled at her lips. Carefully, Emma freed it from the white ribbon, one she knew Killian – _gods_ , Killian – used for the flower crowns he created for her.

 _Your Highness_ , the short letter rad, _please forgive my bold gesture. If you do not wish to read further, I beg of you, burn or rip this parchment and forget it ever existed. If you don't, however, please consider my advice. I have heard you've been unwell lately, and while I wish I had a better remedy for your illness, I do hope peppermint tea will be the cure you need. While ginger tea is a good method to cure nausea, it doesn't mean too much of it won't make you feel even worse. Hoping I didn't offend you and that you will get better soon, perhaps even grace the garden with your presence if I'm not too presumptuous, I now leave you be, Princess. Sincerely, Killian Jones_.

Emma's cheeks hurt, her smile so wide she could almost feel her lower lip split in the middle. A pang of sadness shot through her heart like a poisoned arrow: he'd not mentioned the night of the ball, though she'd not expected him to. The tone of the letter, shy and tentative, along with the clear invitation to join him in the garden as soon as she felt better and was ready to leave her chamber, was telling enough.

Another of her dreamy sighs, the one her friends teased her about, left her mouth as she fell back on the bed, clutching the rose and the letter to her chest, as if wanting to imprint it into her heart so she would never forget those gifts, far more precious than any she'd ever received.

Suffice to say, the lukewarm peppermint tea was the best one she ever tasted.

* * *

It took her two more days to heal completely.

Her mother kept fussing and her father brought her more peppermint tea but no more middlemists. It saddened her, but Emma rather enjoyed the quick glares her Papa shot to the still blooming flower in the crystal vase on her vanity.

Finally, when her legs didn't shake so much to move her skirts and what solid food she did eat managed to stay down, Emma decided she'd had enough and that it was about time she took a breath of fresh air.

Her complexion was slightly paler than usual, the freckles on her face starting to stand out more and more as she kept her head titled back, sun kissing her skin. Her hair was loosely tied in a braid, a look her mother would frown upon if Emma hadn't been firm in her decision to dress as she wanted.

For a moment, she contemplated dressing down to her undergarments and really enjoying the sun. Part of her liked to think about the reaction she would trigger, but she didn't want to send either of her parents to an early grave. Perhaps, one day, she would enjoy the sun's caresses on her bare skin.

Heat crept up her neck and face when a tiny voice in her head suggested she would go on such adventures with a certain Master Gardener.

Gasping in surprise at her own thoughts, Emma stood from the stone bench, driven by a sudden spark of flaring fire in the pit of her stomach. She licked her lips, eyes wide and greener than ever as she exhaled and strode into the greenhouse.

High glass walls rose towards the sky, closing above her head in a vault ceiling. Whoever conceived the building and built it must've been a genius. White-painted steel kept the glass upright, a staircase spiralling up to a balustrade that ran almost completely all around the greenhouse and hosted various other plants. The greenhouse's architectural style contrasted with the castle's, too modern to seem to fit. And yet, it did. More than, it looked the perfect place to escape from routine, even if, or perhaps _because_ , the only inhabitants were flowers and plants from all over the realms. It didn't hurt that its guardian was such a gentleman and helped her quiet her mind even just with his presence on the other side of the greenhouse.

There he was, at very end of it, bent over an orchid, her mother's favourite flower. He was carefully tying the stems to flower spikes so they wouldn't bend and break, but grow strong and beautiful. She was in awe of him, and she thanked the gods her sight was still good enough to clearly see him even from afar.

Her mouth suddenly ran dry. Not for the first time Emma deemed him as a celestial being, but now, enveloped in the morning light which wrapped around his figure like a halo, testifying his otherworldly nature, enhanced by the white linen shirt he was wearing, sleeves rolled up past his elbows showing off strong forearms. It was unbelievable that she'd touched them just several weeks ago, albeit from over layers of clothes.

More than once, when Emma only caught just a glimpse of him, so fast she'd believe it'd only been her imagination if she didn't know he existed and spent all his waking hours in the greenhouse, she found herself in awe of his seraphic appearance. The adjective had vehemently swirled in her mind for so long she'd sometimes sketched wings springing from between his shoulder blades.

Her fingers twitched, desiring to hold a charcoal and take time to sketch him like this, beatific as he focused on his task. One thing she wouldn't be able to give justice to would be his mouth: so perfect, with plump lips enhanced by his short scruff and always moving. It was barely noticeable, at first considered a mere tic, until she caught him softly talking to a bouquet of wildflowers. He'd been talking nonsense, sweet nothings, but Emma never doubted he'd told his flowers his deepest secrets and revealed them his thoughts. Oh, how she egoistically wished she was a flower so she could hear them, too. Perhaps, one day, he would confide in her.

Some undefined feeling enveloped her heart as her green eyes roamed over his ethereal figure. A deep breath and she was – still elegantly – striding towards him, only to slow down to better admire him a bit more. Half his face was hidden by shadows, but she was enraptured by the strands of hair falling over his forehead and eyes, not irritating or hindering him in the slightest as he carried on with his task. Another wonder were his fingers, so delicate when touching the flowers – and Emma – yet still rough at the touch, hands which had known hard labour and the bite of steel as the scars on their palms and backs testified.

Of course he didn't need to raise his head to understand she'd arrived. It felt very much as if, by entering the greenhouse, or the garden, really, she'd crossed some magical boundary which informed him of any visitor.

«Good morning, your Highness. I confide you feel quite better?» he greeted her, casting a glance out of the corner of his eye. Would the peculiar shade of blue of his eyes be found in nature? It looked like the blue of forget-me-nots, yet not the same.

«Much better!» Emma exclaimed, blushing at her own excitement. How little self-control she had in his presence. «I wanted to thank you. You've been my savior. Weren't it for the peppermint tea, I'd still be bedridden.»

At last, he straightened his back, turning to her and if wings appeared behind him she wouldn't be surprised. It was the smile he was giving her that didn't make her feel silly.

«I'm glad to hear that.» After the last word left his mouth and stopped echoing against the glass walls, he turned towards a pot, watering the plant there, one she didn't recognize.

Albeit gentle, his words sounded very much like a dismissal. Was he perhaps toying with her? Was his invitation – not quite an invitation, she needed to admit – only a ruse?

If there was one thing Emma was, though, was a fighter. Despite her demeanor and gentle manners, she'd been raised by a former bandit and a shepherd-turned-king. She could take time to gather her courage to act or voice her thoughts, the fact that she was a Princess not discouraging her from being herself.

Licking her lips, Emma headed closer, putting the wooden work bench between them. Since her visit to Alexandra, a thought kept nagging at her. The Princess wasn't a vain person but, much like other women, there were times in which she loved to look – or rather, _feel_ – beautiful. Void compliments still ran common through the nobility, and her innate ability to detect lies only saddened her when she received one. It hurt, but like many things, Emma buried her sorrow deep down, trying to forget it.

«Master Jones,» she began, eyes darting to him and finding his attention still on the plants, «have you ever heard of flower used to adorn gowns?»

There it was.

His hands stilled for a brief second, and had Emma diverted her eyes, she wouldn't have met his. The confusion she read in them almost made her smile. Though she fought it, she couldn't impede the corners of her lips to twitch.

«Aye,» Killian carefully replied, his voice a tad deeper than usual, «but I rather the flowers grow in vases or bushes instead of adorning already magnificent gowns.»

Decidedly, Emma couldn't fault him. «What about flower crowns, then?»

Her question seemed to surprise him, and it was quite shocking to see him fumble at her question. Pride shot through her at the red blush painting his cheeks and reaching the tips of his ears in such an endearing way.

Killian cleared his throat. «There's a difference, lo- your Highness.»

 _Oh_ , how her heart ached when he cut himself off. «Is there?»

A low exhale and he met her eyes. It felt more like being pierced through the soul rather than being looked at. Could it be? « _To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, to throw a perfume on the violet, to smooth the ice, or add another hue unto the rainbow, or with taper-light to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, is wasteful and ridiculous excess_.»

The quote was one she recognized, one she agreed with. While it did communicate his idea, it still didn't explain why he would consider flower crowns acceptable when the thought of covering a ballgown with fresh flowers was so abhorring.

«What I mean, Em- I'm sorr-»

«You can call me Emma!» she rushed to say, her hand suspended mid-air as if wanting to reach out to touch him before curling her fingers into a fist, bringing it back to her side. «I-if you want, of course.»

They were breaking protocol. Emma didn't care.

«V-very well, then,» he conceded, glancing away from her. «What I mean, _Emma_ ,» – why did she allow him to use her name, again? – «is that you don't need a flower-covered dress to be beautiful, to gain everyone's attention, you already do that on yourself.» A pause, a small smile – no, a _grin_ , stretching his lips. «Even if you avoid any kind of attention and hide, you still eclipse every other woman in the room. All their efforts are vain when it comes to compete with you.»

His earnest compliment managed to melt her heart even if she knew it wasn't possible, because if her heart didn't liquify, then Emma didn't know what it did. Her lips parted in a quiet gasp. She wanted nothing more to round the table and kiss the lips from whence those words had fallen.

Protocol and customs be damned, the princess did exactly that.

Being her first kiss ever, the way she pounced on his lips felt awkward at first, her hands balled into fists around his shirt. She almost fell over as she raised herself onto her tiptoes, feet leaving her flat shoes. How could she care about any of that when his lips felt so soft against her own, the coarse hairs of his stubble scratching deliciously over her skin?

It took Killian the fragment of a second to reciprocate the kiss, eyelids fluttering closed and lips moving against Emma's. Gently, he guided her through the kiss, daring at one point to sweep his tongue against her lower lip.

She sighed into his mouth, trembling in his grasp as their tongues touched, discovering each other's mouth. It was paradise, it must've been, there was no other way to describe how she felt, as if she was experiencing the greatest beatitude.

One of Killian's arms tightened against her waist, bringing her closer her higher, her tiptoes barely touching the floor His other arm, instead, brushed up her back, sending ripples of heat straight to her belly, a warm sensation she was new to but wanted to explore, to be consumed by. When his fingers slipped through her hair, Emma was grateful for the loose braid she'd chosen. She wondered how those same fingers would feel actually running through her golden curls. The thought made her shiver.

They broke the kiss, breaths mingling and foreheads touching before Emma surged forwards again, making him stumble back a little. She left her shoes behind, the cold floor of the greenhouse a sharp contrast with the warmth she felt inside, blood boiling and flesh aflame.

Killian pulled away slightly, pulling the hand away from the back of her head to hold her chin between thumb and forefinger, smiling at her.

No, the princess didn't need flowers sewn onto her clothes, nor any other embellishment, not when Killian was looking at her like that, as if she was the lily and all the other things he'd spoken of mere minutes – or an eternity – earlier.

It didn't run smoothly for them, some of the council members and the too many suitors claiming a mere gardener wasn't good enough, not even if he'd served in the Navy. What Emma was grateful of, was her parents' past and how they'd been firm in their decision to let their daughter follow her heart, whether it'd found a home in a nobleman or in a gardener.

Flower crowns, bouquets and single middlemists never failed to appear out of thin air, lovely gestures or a way to apologize – from her part, Emma brought him seashells or starfishes, her own way to say she was sorry – and while Killian kept his job, his acuity and past were useful, if not indispensable, when it came to alliances and strategy. Emma felt her skin tingle and heat pool in her belly whenever Killian spoke to the council, sure of himself and his ideas; the power he held over the council the same of a captain running his ship.

He was also a good physician, having long chats with Doc about herbs' healing properties and how plants could be used in medicine.

Suffice to say, ginger tea was never served to Emma again, peppermint substituting the root in the rare occasions she ate something that upset her stomach.

That is, of course, until, several years later, she had to switch to red raspberry leaf tea after midway through her pregnancy.


End file.
